Delenda Est
by Eetic
Summary: Follows the series and movies up until the end of 'Nemesis,' and then diverges. A new race, the M'loi, have begun a war on the Federation, and Beverly and Jean-Luc must each face challenges to save the other. Not super happy, but everything ends up right and proper. P/C, T/R, A/U. Please, Review - especially if you have a complaint. It's how we get better!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is, in some ways, related to 'Personal Logs.' It is an prologue, epilogue, and somewhat parallel to it, but things will be changed. It is set after Nemesis, but that is where the story diverges from and goes A/U.

Disclaimer: Paramount is just that.

Chapter 1

Data thought himself to be a competent Starfleet officer, and his citations for everything from superlative bravery to diplomatic ability were, in his view, a fitting testament to that. Therefore, he did not understand why Major Richard Wellesley, of the 361st Battalion of the MACO, behaved the way he did towards the android. After all, Data's primary concern was with the well-being of the ship and it's crew, just as Major Wellesley's concern should be the well-being of the men and women who served under him. Data did not understand the propensity of Major Wellesley to interfere with Data's command of the _Enterprise._ He was always giving him ideas and solutions to problems that had not arisen yet. Not all of the ideas were bad by any means, and Data had stored them in his positronic brain for the time when they might be of some use to him. However, the majority of them seem to want to turn the _Enterprise_ into Mr. Wellesley's personal battleship.

_The _Enterprise_, while being an immensely powerful ship, was not Mr. Wellesley's, _Data concluded. And a good thing, too.

"Commander Data to Major Wellesley. We have encountered a M'loi squadron and are engaging. I will be unable to brief you personally. Commander Harl will do so, instead." Data nodded to his temporary first officer, who began towards the turbo lift. "Please inform Major Wellesley that he is to prepare for boarders."

"Aye, sir"

"Red Alert. All hands to battlestations." The calm voice of Data juxtaposed with the klaxons blaring their dirge.

Crusher hated hearing that. _Weren't we supposed to be explorers?_ She tried to jolt herself awake, willing herself to move from her office chair to set up sickbay for triage.

Ever since this damned war started, all she recalled ever doing in the morning is hoping that the day would hold something other than wars and casualties and lists. Every evening, however, the doctor ended up falling asleep, utterly disgusted with the day. She could hear the stomping of boots on the decks outside of sickbay – heavy boots. Military boots. The one thing she hated above anything in this war was having to play host to the MACOs – the Military Assault Command Operations. _Legionaries, they thought themselves, s_he thought with a roll of her blue eyes, _a bit full of themselves, aren't they? Caesar would be so proud_. She smiled to herself when thinking of that last comment. Jean-Luc would have been pleased by her adding that classical touch. _Jean-Luc..._ He'd been gone for 2 months now. "Special assignment" was the way he described where he was going that last night when they had enjoyed a romantic dinner. Throughout dinner she couldn't keep her eyes off him, and noted gleefully that he couldn't keep his eyes off her. After dinner they had taken to dancing. _He's a wonderful dancer,_ she thought, _but I knew that already. Why was I so stubborn? Why didn't I tell him about my love? Why didn't I take that night, and use it the way my body wanted me to? _Nechayev had come personally to the Enterprise that next morning, and brought with her six people, dressed in black. None of them ever said anything, and none of them ever seemed to smile. It was quite disconcerting, but not nearly as disconcerting as when Deanna had told Beverly that two of them were Betazoids, and powerfully telepathic to boot. Rumours aboard the _Enterprise_ NCC-1701-E were abound, and the one that seemed to hold the most water, at least to Beverly's over active imagination was that these were operatives of Section 31. _Section 31, _Beverly drew in a shuddering breath,_ what could they possibly want with Jean-Luc? My Jean-Luc..._ She bit back the warm tears that were welling in her eyes at the thought of him, and the two months since she had been in contact with him, since she had been able to tell herself that he was still alive.

He had taken the battle with Shinzon, and the loss of Lieutenant Commander Data hard, very hard, and the reports of that encounter had been frighteningly clinical in the wording used when describing the dramatic, and for Jean-Lu himself, undeniably personal, events that unfolded: _unstable elements...thaleron device...skirmish.._._acceptable risks...casualty report_. She asked him about what had really happened aboard the _Scimitar_, and he had, once, after one of their dinners, talked to her about it. _He feels guilty_, she thought to herself at the time,_ guilty that Data had died to save him. Save us all. He wanted to be the one at the centre of that memorial service, not being one of the ones to say goodbye._ She saw the anguish in his eyes when he recounted, in his verbal report to the senior staff, having the emergency transporter beacon attached to his arm, and how, in the final moments of the transport, Data had simply said _'_goodbye_'_, and destroyed the thaleron matrix, detonating both it, the _Scimitar,_ and the redoubtable android. Her heart had gone out to Jean-Luc, but all he had done is retreated within himself, and shielded himself with preoccupation and duty. When this war had started, she thought she may have seen a bitter gleam of savage thrill in his eyes, so cold at the time, their hazel depths murky with the great internal struggle. That chilled her to the bone, and made her heart race with thrill at the same time. _Humanity is dumb,_ she thought to herself, _we think we've come so far, and then war makes children of us all_. This conflict had brought out the worst in everyone, but she had seen the stoic Captain, the man she dearly loved, come alive again. She hoped he would remain that way. When b4 had 'become' Data earlier this year, right before the war had started, Picard had made him the first officer of the _Enterprise_, bumping Commander Madden to commanding his own ship. An _Intrepid-_class, if she recalled correctly. How many of his favours owed he had been forced to call in, no one knew, but many were certain that it would not have been an inconsequential amount.

The ship rocked as the inertial dampeners struggled to keep up with the manoeuvres that Data had ordered. _We aren't all androids, Data. WE actually get nauseous. _But it had had the desired effect of knocking her out of her daydreaming.

Crusher had delighted when she had learned that Starfleet believed that Data, lately having completed the Starfleet tests to judge whether or not b4 was capable of 'being' Data, would be the best suited to take over the _Enterprise _in Jean-Luc's absence. Immediately upon taking Command, Data had ordered Battle Preparedness Reports. _Enterprise _was being sent to the front line, and Beverly would be going with it. _War is the only proper school for a surgeon, _Crusher snorted, _Hippocrates, you got so much right, and still got so much wrong._

"'Ten-hut!"

"At ease, ladies and gentlemen. Commander Data will be unable to come down to give the briefing himself, as you can no doubt guess by the state of the ship."

Major Richard Wellesley was of the old school. The _very_ old school. He was brought up under the discipline and doctrine of the armed sevices, his father having been a military man, and his father's father, all the way back to his noble ancestor, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington and victor of Waterloo. He carried the given name of his great forebearer's brother, but felt a closer kinship with Wellington himself. He would make his family proud of him, dammit.

The assembled group of officers made up the senior staff of his battalion. He bunked alone, but due to space constraints aboard this damned ship, he was the only senior officer in his group to get that privilege. _Damned disgrace_, he thought to himself, _damned disgrace._ He had never liked starships, always being a man of the soil and solid ground. _Commander Data, hmph,_ he remarked to himself, _jumped up little turd. Thinks himself a leader of men, does he? _Data had _not_ ingratiated himself with Wellesley one bit during the latter's stay on the _Enterprise_. High handed ideals of what the Federation _ought_ to be, rather than what it was – a mutual defence pact. One that got into a lot more wars than it would prefer to admit. Mutual defence required the ability to defend oneself, and Data just didn't get that. _Oh well, as long as I get to do the fighting, we should be alright_. Richard smirked. MACO efficiency and MACO resourcefulness would bring about victory in the ground wars. Ground wars had always been the deciding factor in conflicts – Richard didn't see why that had to change.

"Sir, Commander Data has asked me to inform you that he is expecting boarders, and to ask that you prepare to repel them."

"I know my job, thank you, ensign." Wellesley turned and ignore the snotty little ensign, "ladies and gentlemen, this is where we earn our keep. Deploy troops throughout the ship, double detachments to engineering and decks 2 and 3. Set phasers to 'kill', and shoot on sight, try not to hit any of our spaceyies. Let's Move!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Captain, this is not the time for decency. We need answer, and we need them now." Fleet Admiral Nechayev whispered. They had been interrogating the M'loi prisoner for over an hour now, and he had given them nothing. She continued, "allow my people to do it, and we'll have it out of him in under an hour."

"And what, pray tell, Admiral, is the method for this...extraction?"

"Telepathic persuasion."

"He is a M'loi, Admiral. They're trained to resist telepathic probing." Picard knew the moment those words left his lips what Nechayev was going to say. But he hoped against hope that he was wrong.

"There are other ways of using the Betazoid abilities to extract information, Captain."

There it was. "You mean torture, Admiral." Picard's voice became dangerously low. It was not a question.

"I do not require you to approve of these methods, _Captain_. All I require of you is to do your duty" She stared him straight in the face.

Picard was silent. _Duty_. Picard briefly wondered how many despicable acts were justified by saying that word. Picard knew that Betazoids, or at least the more telepathically gifted ones, could cause pain, or death, if they focused their telepathic powers intensely enough onto a mind.

"This is a war, Captain. You would do well to remember that the next time you get squeamish." Alynna Nechayev turned to the tall, dark eyes woman, "Yallah, you may proceed."

Picard left the room as quickly as dignity would allow. The prisoner, strapped to a chair, began to moan with increased urgency as the Betazoid, Yallah, sat opposite, stared unblinkingly at her prey.

Picard turned briefly before leaving the room. The M'loi's eyes were on him, and in those white orbs, Picard saw one thing.

_Pain._

Picard felt nauseous, as though he were experiencing some of what the prisoner was being forced to endure. The organization that he had given himself to, freely, and for his entire adult life, disgusted him. _How dare they?How dare they resort to...to this? _Hadn't they fought before to _stop_ others from utilizing these barbaric practises? Wasn't there some sort of guarantee in the Federation Charter against this sort of thing. _But of course, the M'loi don't enjoy the protection of the Charter. Silly me, thinking it was a philosophy. Do unto others before they do unto you._

Picard walked out of the building that they had been in, and took a look around. A barren, windswept plateau greeted him as he kicked some of the sparse, luminescent rocks that littered the ground, like so many ornaments. _What the hell am I doing here?I should be back on the Enterprise, with Beverly, not bandying around with that toad of an Admiral_. It had been two months since he had left his beloved _Enterprise_. Two months of hopping around this system in a runabout, looking for one man the Admiral had said was an important source of information. When they finally caught him, he looked so pitiable, so scared about what was going to happen to him. _Probably a logistics officer. Probably not even a volunteer._ He had tried to give the man a decent standard of living while on the runabout, and the Admiral didn't really care how the M'loi lived, as long as he did so long enough to answer her questions.

He looked into the distance after being shaken out of his thoughts by the wind. There, under a sheet designed to look like _what, a forest? So that if anyone were to look at the runabout, they would see a small copse of trees. IN THE MIDDLE OF A BARREN PLATEAU WITH NO WATER. Stellar._ Picard hated everything right now, but the Starfleet Corps of Engineers officer who designed that pointless piece of camouflage was his current target. An unfair target, but one nonetheless.

He missed the _Enterprise._ How he missed Beverly. _Beverly. No. Do not think of her. Do not sully her by imagining her with you here now. She would not want to be with you if she knew what you were doing._ Try as he might to put his mind on different tracks, Picard could not drown out the sounds that he was hearing from inside the small installation. The screams from the man they had captured, and were currently _questioning._

He was almost glad when those screams stopped. _Is he dead, or unconscious?_ Picard fervently hoped it was the former. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"Captain, we're going. Please send to the _Sulieman_ that we are ready to leave."

"Yes, Admiral." He knew they weren't taking the M'loi with them. _I wonder if he was killed, or just left there?_

"Captain Picard to Runabout _Sulieman_, begin prelaunch procedures." In the distance, he could hear the whine of the engines coming online. Well, that sounded about right.

What didn't sound right was the explosion that followed, nor was the crater where their ship had been what they were expecting. _Oh, good. An ambush._

Bright lances of light streaked towards them from all around. Yallah, the Betazoid, was almost immediately hit, and Picard didn't need a tricorder to know that she was not going to live much longer. A large depression in her chest had formed from the energy in that blast, and she hadn't made so much as a sound as she slumped to the dust, her lungs unable to compress enough to work her vocal cords. However, what he did hear was a terrible shriek in his head, one of surprise and pain, as Yallah's life was extinguished.

Picard returned fire to _somewhere_. He couldn't see the assailants, but it felt better to have his phaser humming in his hands, than it was to simply wait to be shot. He moved towards the Admiral and began taking pot shots to where he hoped there was a target. His arm barred Alynna Nechayev from getting up, and assisting in the return fire. He didn't like her very much, but he knew his job was to keep her alive.

"You, you, get over here now," he pointed to two of the black clad operatives, "take the Admiral to the installation, we'll hold up there. You, you and you," the remaining three targeted by his finger, "you're coming with me, we're going to cause a distraction. Whatever you do, don't stop firing. You stop firing, and we're all dead."

Moving from cover to scant cover, Picard watched the two he had marked to assist the Admiral weave their way back towards the 'safety' of the installation's door.

The installation looked to be little more than a door in a hole, but it connected to the many passageways and tunnels in the mesa itself, constructed shortly after the war had began. Starfleet intelligence suspected that this sector would be overrun eventually, and had a series of these 'natural' fortifications build across many worlds. they were largely constructed out of duranium alloy, which protected it from the frequent meteorite hits that the worlds in this system were forced to endure. Duranium, being what it was, would provide an effective energy barrier from the M'loi weapons for a time.

Another of the operatives was killed, his death being just another random event in a war full of random events. _If the shooter had liked my bald head less than this man's hair, that'd be me lying in the dirt._ The thought stuck with him for only a split second, before being replaced with a more pressing matter. Picard directed his phaser to hit the area the fatal beam had emitted from.

"Picard to Nechayev, are you secure?"

"Yes, Captain. Pull back now."

Picard turned to his two remaining companions, and motioned with his thumb for them to get back. He turned with them, and almost immediately fell to the ground.

When Jean-Luc Picard awoke, he found himself staring at a metal ceiling. _This is not the _Enterprise._ Where am- ah. Right. Hell. At least Q isn't here._

"It is good that you are awake, Captain Picard. I was not sure if the shock to your nervous system would be too much." Doctor Yalarian, one of the surviving members of the team, was working near the Captain's leg, which, Picard noted, hurt like a sonofabitch.

"What happened? How long have I been out." The thudding against the duranium door told him that they were not safely away yet.

"You were struck with a compressor, Captain. The M'loi use compressed Ralon weapons, which cause severe radiation as well as heat damage. You are fortunate to be alive, and fortunate that H'mari could pull you to the door. I was required to amputate your leg below the knee to save your life."

"But, I can feel it. It hurts like hell, you can't tell me it isn't there."

"What you are experiencing is a variation of Phantom Limb Syndrome. Although it will likely be more severe due to the nerve damage suffered from the nature of the weapon used."

"Where is the Admiral?"

"I'm here, Captain. I wanted to thank you for-"

"No, Admiral." Picard didn't want her thanks. "Now, do we have an alternative escape route?"

"The _Admonisher_ is scheduled to search the area if we do not report in within a week of our scheduled return. However, I do not believe we have a week to wait in this hole. Do you agree, Captain?"

"I do," Picard knew she was right. However, he didn't fancy their chances of escape when there was exactly eleven legs between six people.

"Which means a couple of difficult choices are going to need to be made..." she seemed hesitant.

He knew what she wanted him to do. Well, she'd have to come out and say it. "Admiral, do you have orders for me?"

"Yes, Captain." She paused, and took a breath before continuing, "the five of us will be moving through the tunnels and removing ourselves from the Mesa. You, being injured, will be unable to keep up with us. Therefore, I am ordering you to remain here. You will be supplied with rations and weapons, and you are to hold this entrance for as long as you are able. You are not to be taken alive. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Admiral. Quite clear."

"Thank you, Captain. Godspeed."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Chief Medical Officers Personal Log, Stardate 55783.5_

_We engaged three M'loi cruisers yesterday. The engagement lasted only about an hour hours, but we suffered around four dozen casualties. My experience as a "Meatball" surgeon, as some in the twentieth century would have put it, has come to the point where I know longer think about how to put people back together, I just do it. Most of the injuries are the same – shrapnel, burns, and broken bones. Tedious work, but necessary, I suppose._

_All 3 of the cruisers were destroyed. At the beginning of this war, I felt like weeping over each M'loi killed, knowing that he or she would have a family, friends; people who would miss them. Now, I am horrified to confess, I simply want to know how many more of them there are left, as if that is a measure of how much longer this war will take._

_Jean-Luc hasn't been in contact for 2 months now. I am concerned for his well-being. This war took him away from me too soon, before I could really tell him how I feel, tell him all the thing I want to do to him, do _for _him. I knew that my being afraid to lose him wasn't going to be any different before we became involved romantically than after. He occupies my thought constantly, and I find myself smiling when thinking about him. We are set to rendezvous with Admiral Nechayev later today, at 1840 hours. I am excited as a little girl, and I hope he as excited to be home._

"I have the _Admonisher_ on sensors, Commander. They are heavily damaged, and are leaking drive plasma."

"Set course to intercept, warp 5. Engage."

The graceful lines of the _Enterprise_ clove through space, before elongating into the warp effect.

"Commander Barclay, please report to transporter room 3 with an emergency repair team. We will be within transporter range of the _Admonisher_ in 8 minutes." "Doctor Crusher, please stand by for injured from the _Admonisher._ We will be in transporter range in 7 minutes and 53 seconds.

"Aye, sir."

"Standing by, Data."

Commander Data turned his head and looked to his tactical officer. "Lieutenant, please hail the _Admonisher_."

"Channel open, sir. Audio only."

"_USS Admonisher_, this is Commander Data of the _Enterprise._ We are moving to intercept. Be ready to accept out engineering teams in 7 minutes and 38 seconds. Data out."

"Sir, the _Admonisher_ is losing warp containment."

"Helm, maximum warp." Data tapped his combadge, "Mr. Barclay, we will be in transporter range in 48 seconds, please be ready to render immediate assistance."

Data watched the viewscreen as a bright flash of light lit space like a nova, and then subsided. In it's place, a glittering cloud of particles floated aimlessly, unaware of the pain they had caused to the crew, and to Data personally.

"Mr. Barclay. You may send your repair teams back to engineering. Please report to the bridge." "You may stand down sickbay, Doctor. Please report to the bridge." Data was not looking forward to this.

"Doctor, why are we standing down?"

"I'm not sure, Alyssa." A double tap to her combadge, "Crusher to Data, why are we standing down?"

"I believe it would be better for you to come to the bridge for that answer, Doctor."

_No, please. Don't be that. Don't let it be that._

"On my way," she answered helplessly.

Beverly made her way onto the bridge, and willed herself not to look at the viewscreen, but her peripheral vision saw what her conscious eyes refused to believe.

"What is it, Data?"

"Doctor, I regret to inform you that at 1829 hours, on Stardate 55783.5, the Starship _Admonisher_ suffered a warp core breech, and was lost, with what we believe is all hands."

"I see," she replied, so far keeping her voice even.

"I would like Commander Barclay to begin analyzing the wreckage to determine what the exact cause of the breech was. I would like you to assist him in his analysis, while also performing your own on any possible organic residue that is found."

"Sir, an analysis will take six hours to complete."

"Very well. I would like the report by 0100 hours. I will compile my report to Starfleet Command at that time. Thank you."

Beverly walked into the turbolift with a _very_ nervous Lieutenant Commander Barclay. He was hurting, too, of course, but he could see something in the Doctor's eyes that made him pause, and think that his didn't get anywhere close to the pain she must be feeling. He wanted to try and make her feel better, but all of the scenarios in his head about how he was going to do that ended with him being on an operating table. And so, true to his form, he remained silent.

Finally, the lift arrived at main engineering, and Barclay was never more relieved that a turbolift ride had ended. He was agonizingly aware of the fact that Doctor Crusher was not in a good mood, and he really couldn't blame her. Rumours had abounded that her and the Captain were...more than friends? He really couldn't see his stern Captain being anything but a mentor and a father figure, but he had heard from someone that the Doctor and Picard had known each other from before even the old _Enterprise-D _days. His heart went out to her.

"Everyone?" No one looked up, so he raised his voice a touch. "Everyone?" This time people took notice and moved towards their chief engineer. "I have some news, and it isn't...good. At around 1830 hours, the Starship _Admonisher_ suffered a warp core breech. I..." Barclay controlled his breathing as a certain Betazoid counsellor had taught him long ago. "I know that things will be tough for a while, but we need to get a sensor sweep of the debris finished as soon as possible."

Everyone seemed confused. They had examined ship debris before. Barclay remembered with horror that he had left something out.

"Oh...I didn't tell-" Another deep breath, this time shuddering out of his lungs, "The _Admonisher_ was carrying Captain Picard."

Engineering was quiet, but the look of pain on his officers' faces was deafening. Barclay could hear some quiet curses from the older hands, and sobs from some of the junior officers, and he knew how both groups felt. He would weep for the Captain later that night, but right now, he was the Chief Engineer, and they had work to do.

"Lieutenant Goss, I'd like you to run a high-band multispectral sweep of the wreckage, beginning at the outer field, and working your way in. I want to know what happened, when it happened, and how it happened. The _Admonisher_ was not an old ship, nor was it brand new. This shouldn't have happened." "Primin, please assist Doctor Crusher, if she requires it. with her scans of the debris. Doctor Crusher is to be given free reign of Engineering for as long as she wants." He smiled encouragingly at the Doctor, but she didn't seem to notice. He felt awkward.

"Let's get to work."

Data received a communique from Earth just as he was about to transmit his report on the _Admonisher_ incident.

"Commander, Starfleet is promoting you to acting captain of the _Enterprise._ You are to take command until Captain Riker and his squadron can join you. They should rendezvous with you in six days. At that time, we will assess the situation, and the future of the _Enterprise._"

"Acknowledged, Admiral." Now he knew how Will Riker had felt those few times when he had been given a field promotion. It was not a good feeling.

"Any news yet on what happened?"

"Not yet, sir. I have teams from engineering working out what happened, and sickbay is trying to figure out who exactly was on board."

"Captain, are you aware of the last log sent out by the _Admonisher_? Admiral Nechayev wrote a report of what happened during their operation. It is...highly classified, but as it may contain information pertaining to your current situation, I will have it sent over. You are not to share it with anyone, is that clear?"

"Affirmative, Admiral."

"Very well, T'rai out."

The information flooded onto the ready room's computer. Data had read it as fast as it was transmitted. He wasn't sure if the news was good or bad, but it was, at least, without the cold certainty with which they had been operating under for the past few hours.

Beverly Crusher worked in silence, and everyone in engineering knew better than to bother her when her hair was tied back. This lesson was reinforced when the young Lieutenant Primin, newly assigned to the _Enterprise_, made an effort to aid the Doctor in one of her tests. After a minute of being battered by the scything words and icy cold glare of the Chief Medical Officer, the Lieutenant slipped away, looking as someone had stepped on her hand. What no one knew, except for Beverly herself, was that their Chief Medical Officer was moments away from losing complete control over her own tempestuous emotions, and focusing entirely on her work, sans interruptions, was the only thing buttressing her tenuous hold on her emotions. She couldn't even think of...him. _No. Concentrate on the scan. That is what is important right now. _Beverly's heart rate was increasing, and her hands shook.

"I have to go. I'll send down Doctor Selar."

She ran to the turbolift. Two young ensigns were waiting for her. _I am not going to break down. Just make it to your quarters, you'll be fine. Just make it to your quarters. Just make it to your quarters. You'll be fine. Just make it-_

"Crusher to transporter room 3, Chief Medical Officer's authorization Crusher alpha-three-seven, immediate site-to-site transport to the Chief Medical Officer's quarters, one to beam up. Energize." The look of surprise on the pair of faces she had left was quickly replaced by the small comfort of her own quarters. Comfort which she did not appreciate.

Beverly screamed at nothing, blaming everyone and everything for her pain. Paintings were torn off the wall, and glassware smashed. and furniture upended. After 15 minutes of mindless violence, she sat on her couch, shaking, sweating, and cold; the silence being eerie after the cacophony which so recently ripped through her mind. She stared into the object in her hands, fighting an internal struggle, more divided than she ever thought possible. During wartime, every serving officer on board a Starship was required to carry a sidearm at all times, and doctors were no different. _Oh, my god. Am I actually here, on the edge of this precipice? _She had always thought herself a rational and logical person. One of the things that attracted her to Jean-Luc was the fact that he had encouraged her in those traits, not once telling or intimating to her that they detracted from her femininity. Rather, he said quite the opposite.

She turned the phaser over and over in her hands. It felt light, like a toy. Just a toy gun, like the ones Wesley played with as a child, but she knew that was an illusion. She remembered her Starfleet tactical training from the academy, all those years ago. A old warhorse of a Commander, with a thick Scots brogue had taught her class.

_"__Commander, it's the size of my hand. Why don't we use larger weapons, like the Klingons? I know I'd be happier having a disruptor rifle in my hands than this." A few of the man's classmates, including Beverly herself, nodded in silent agreement._

_"__A type-2 phaser is a small, compact weapon, easily handled in combat. This has led some of the Federation's enemies to disparage it's potential in battle, as well, it seems, some of the Federation's best and brightest." The Commander paused, "son, I remember fighting in the battle of Tau Gemini IV. My unit had just gotten a small shipment of the type-2 phasers like we use now. The Lyrans needed to set up particle cannons to shoot down our tactical flyers. When I asked my unit commander why we didn't have similar firepower, he just pulled out one of the new type-2s, and put it to level 12 and demolished one of the buildings that the Lyrans had set up in. Now, level 12 isn't the highest setting, but it vaporized a building the size of my house. God help you if you need level 16."_

She had never forgotten that class, even if she couldn't remember the name of the grizzled commander who had taught it. She looked down once more, the indicator panel displayed power reserves, beam coherence, environmental factors, and a bright, crimson _16. _The light from that number was casting a soft light onto her porcelain face, giving it a sanguinary look. She prayed fervently through her own tears: _if there is a God, I need your help now._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Picard sincerely hoped that the painkillers that were coursing through his body would not throw off his visual acuity. _The last thing I need is to be seeing double the number of beings who currently want me dead. I have enough enemies for right now.  
_The pounding on the duranium door grew louder, and Picard knew that he would likely be dead in a couple of minutes. Briefly, he thought that the easiest way he could get out of this would be to set the phaser rifle in his hand to overload, and take the lot of them out with him, and moved to make the proper adjustments.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts, that wasn't how he wanted to go. He had given decades of his life in service to this Federation which he loved, _and I'll be damned before I die without looking my killers in the eye._ He remembered a famous dialogue between the young Prince Richard of England and his brother, both of whom were about to be executed. _"Richard, you are a fool. As if it matters how a man falls."_ Richard the Lionhearted had replied "_When the fall is all that is left, it matters a great deal."_

The door glowed a deep red in the darkness of the cramped entrance. The M'loi would be through their last barrier in less than a minute, and Picard steeled himself against the fear that was threatening to take over his body. He moved to the side, hoping to take the first few through the door by surprise.

With a great screech, the door crumpled inwards, dented and scarred beyond recognition. The previously unseen assailants came through the now smoking archway firing indiscriminately into the blackness that greeted them. Picard remained silent, and they took no notice of the slight man in the corner. Five had moved through the archway before Picard went on the offensive. Snapping off half a dozen quick shots from his phaser rifle, he saw two of the M'loi fall before the rest had a chance to react. Due to the nature of the M'loi compressors, Picard knew that he could not simply stay put in his vantage point, but also had to concede the fact that, with a grand total of one working leg, he would likely lose the battle of mobility if he remained in this room. As fast as he could get his overtaxed body to respond, he moved farther and farther down into the warrens that crisscrossed the mesa like the threads of a spider's web. After five minutes, however, the agony of moving forced him to stop. He turned his phaser on the roof of the tunnel he was in and fired. Rock and dirt fell, blocking the way with a deluge of earth.

He was loathe to take that step. Firstly, he didn't really know his way around down here. He didn't even know if the tunnel he was currently in continued, or rather had, chuckling to himself in a fit of gallows humour, a dead end. Secondly, Picard wasn't entirely confidant in the integrity of the tunnel's structure. He hoped his pursuers would have the same misgivings, and attempt to find an alternate route rather than attempt to blast their way through.

Either way, Picard needed to rest, and so, against a particularly large and uncomfortable rock, he fell into a fitful, restless sleep.

He awoke an hour later, he was greeted by pain of the most exquisite kind. The painkillers that Yalarian had administered were wearing off, and Picard noted glumly that he only had a single dose of the stuff left. It seemed that the good Doctor believed Picard would not be needing more than one extra dose, and he suppose that had been a justified determination given the circumstances. His heart briefly filled with guilt, believing that he had somehow cheated his orders to die with bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, but then scoffed. _Let them court-martial me if they want._ His orders were to hold the entrance as long as he could, and he had done that. If he hadn't fallen back, he'd be little more than another corpse made by this war, and consoled himself that he might be able to cause a little more mischief before the end came.

Mischief would be a difficult order to fill with half of his left leg missing, but, he told himself half cheerfully, these tunnels were low enough that he'd be doubled over when moving anyway. Staying on his knees wasn't an option with the stump of his leg being so painful still, so he began to crawl down the tunnel, going as quickly, and as quietly, as he could.

Picard silently thanked the powers that be for his exceptional hearing, for he could not see a bloody thing in this darkness. He couldn't risk the glowlamp in his tactical kit, as it would be a clear indication of his position to anything around the upcoming twists and turns of the cave. He also realised that its charge may need last days, if not, _hopefully not,_ weeks. More than a once did his hand stumble on to a sharp outcropping of rocks, and he was sure he was bleeding profusely. The tactical briefing regarding this particular mission had made reference to the soil of this world holding minor antiseptic properties_. Let's hope that Starfleet Intelligence lives up to its name – for once._ He crawled for what he thought was another hour before coming upon a large, open hall of stone. He couldn't tell the dimensions of the room, but the air definately felt far less stuffy in here. He crawled his was along one of the walls, determining it to be around one hundred meters in length. Luminescent rocks in the cavern's walls very dimly lit the area around him, and he found himself near a small, black pool.

From a doorway that entered into the chamber Picard was in strode half a dozen M'loi soldiers with light projectors and scanning equipment. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on silencing the pain that was coursing through his body, a circuit that began and ended in the remains of his left leg, and pressed himself into a small shelf of rock that overhung near the water's edge. As he compressed himself into the smallest form he could, it hit him, _my tracking device._ Picard remembered Doctor Yalarian implanting the cybernetic chip into the Captain's right arm.

"_This will allow us to track you should we need to. It is on a extremely high band frequency. It is unlikely that the M'loi will be able to detect it unless they are looking for it."_

'Unlikely' was too high a possibility for Captain Picard to risk, and he hastily opened his tricorder and set it to signal dispersal, hoping it would be enough to mask his presence. He remained as silent and as motionless as he could, covering the indicator lights of the display pad with his body, lest it give him away.  
Five minutes later, the M'loi satisfied themselves that the chamber was empty. He waited another ten minutes to make sure that no one else would come looking, and then began to move once more.

Picard was relieved that M'loi had been fooled by the distortion given off by the tricorder, but it was clear that it would not be able to keep a charge for long if used as a permanent sensor cloak. Something would have to be done about that chip, and he was not looking forward to it.

The Starfleet tactical kit came equipped with a mono-atomic knife, which, being hellishly sharp, would make an adequate scalpel for his upcoming procedure. Picard was not aware of how deep the device had been implanted but, fortunately, the area above it was still irritated by the original implantation, making finding the damned thing much less of a trial-and-error process than he had feared. Setting up a temporary camp in one of the alcoves adjoining the large chamber, he placed the glowlamp on an outcropping of rock, ensuring that the beam of light it emitted shone into the alcove rather than out, and set about rolling up his sleeve. Picard decided without cheer that the painkillers would have to be given after the device was out, to ensure he was fully concious for the removal. The contents of the medical kit lay scattered before him, many of the instruments entirely foreign to him. He promised himself that, if he ever got back to the _Enterprise_, he would take a more advanced first aid course from Beverly. _Beverly._ He had no problem thinking of her now, and it was an image of her face that he impressed into his mind to keep him from crying out with the pain of the incision. Skin and flesh and muscle were cut through in a heartbeat by the impossibly sharp knife, it's edge measuring only a few atoms thick. Picard grunted with the pain and effort of trying to gouge the chip out of his body, and, after scrabbling for a grip on the small, blood slicked device, managed to pull it free. He was shivering with the effort, and knew that he would bleed out in minutes if the bleeding did not stop.

He set his phaser to its lowest setting, and, firing on the blade of the knife, heated it sufficiently for steam and the low hissing sound of his lifeblood boiling away to emit from his arm when he cauterized his wound. _And I thought the cut itself hurt._ Searing agony rampaged through his mind, entirely eclipsing his relative discomfort at missing a large part of one of his limbs.

"Mon Dieu," he groaned lowly, his head swimming, and mouth tasting of copper. He must have bit his lip he thought idly.

Picard spent the next few minutes attempting to stitch the cut he had made in his arm. Trying to finish before resorting to painkillers, the pain was overwhelming to think through, and, at last, he held the hypospray to his neck and depressed the activator. The relief it provided made Picard giddy, and he contentedly completed his needlework for his arm. Smiling at a job well done, he at last released his mind into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_What the hell is wrong with me!? _Beverly threw the offending piece of equipment across the floor. She had sat, staring at it for half an hour before asking that question of herself. _Killing myself is not going to solve anything, anyways. This isn't just about me – it's Jean-Luc who's the one who suffered, died, not me. How many others are grieving? How many others are in their quarters tonight, contemplating an end to things? 'To be, or not to be...'_ A fresh ocean of tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of the Bard. Beverly shook with emotions, knowing that Jean-Luc would never read to her again, would never have her head on his shoulder as he recited Shakespeare's plays or sonnets to her. It hurt, more than losing Jack had hurt. She had loved Jack, greatly, and still loved him, but with Jean-Luc... it was a deep need. It was a burning desire for him to be near her, to share in her, to make love to her. He never knew how deeply her emotions had run. _Maybe we should be afraid._ The words of a girl, not a woman, and she regretted them daily.

The hole that he left was just big enough for her to throw herself down to her own destruction, but she held on, if only by a thread. She had to hold on.

"Dr. Hansen, please report to the Chief Medical Officer's quarters." Beverly grimaced when she said, "medical emergency." She curled up on the floor of her bedroom, and a new wave of pain and hurt washed over her.

Giles Hansen looked up from his desk in the counsellor's office. _Medical emergency? What kind of medical emergency is there for a psychiatri-_ "Security to Chief Medical Officer's quarters immediately. Do not go in until I get there." He ran out of his office as fast as he could, and into the turbolift, the worry evident on his face.

_She couldn't have._ Doctor Crusher had always struck him as a balanced woman. Indeed, Hansen had performed a psychological stress test on her shortly after taking up the post here – it was important to him to have a profile on each of the commanding officers who he was working with. She had done well in each of the fields, and he noted that she was extraordinarily resilient. _Maybe it isn't her? Maybe someone came to see her._

"Computer, how many people are in Doctor Crusher's quarters?"

"There is one person in Doctor Crusher's quarters."

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

The turbolift opened, and Hansen bolted out, nearly running into Captain Data.

"Doctor Hansen, may I assist you?"

"No!"

Data ran after him, easily able to keep pace.

"May I enquire as to where you are going?"

Hansen stopped in front of Crusher's quarters. "Computer, open this door, authorization Hansen theta-theta-seven." He looked at the two security officers, "you and you, stay out here. Do not come in unless I specifically call for you." He turned to Data, "it would be best if you, too, remained out here until I call you in, sir."

The room was dark, and Hansen's greeting went unanswered. He took a step inside, and heard the crunching of glass underfoot. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a scene of utter devastation in the room, soil from the potted plants was everywhere. There was not a single thing that was mobile that was where it should have been, and there were streaks of something on the wall. Hansen saw with horror that it was blood.

"Beverly? It's Giles. Where are you?"

He heard movement in her bedroom. "Beverly? Are you in there?"

A muffled affirmative answered back.

"Beverly, I'm opening the door, now, alright? You cut yourself on something, and I need to take a look at it." He opened the door gingerly.

Beverly had not been kind to herself. Cuts, ranging from small points of blood, to large gashes, had been opened on her hands, likely from smashing the many delicate glass pieces of art that she had adorned her quarters with. A large wound across her forehead was bleeding profusely on to her uniform, and from the pattern and amount of blood, had been doing so for some time. The blood beneath her eyes were cut with channels where tears had fallen, and were still falling.

"Beverly, lets me get you out of there." He reached for her. _All this blood..._

"Get away! Get away! I can help myself." She spat, her voice dripping with hate.

_Hate at what? Hate at whom?_

"Beverly, let me help you, please? I am your friend, and you are in trouble."

She didn't move.

"Beverly, what happened?"

She didn't answer.

"Alright. I'll be right back, ok? Please, don't hurt yourself, I'll be right back."

He left her and moved away, walking towards the door of the room. He could hear her pain, and saw the anguish in her eyes. _Who the hell did this?_

"Captain Data, may I speak to you a moment?"

"Certainly, Doctor."

Hansen didn't know how to ask the question. "Sir, may I speak candidly?"

"Certainly, Doctor."

_Here it goes._ "What is...wrong...with Doctor Crusher, sir?"

"How do you mean, Doctor Hansen? I am unaware of, ah."

Data had looked over Hansen's shoulder and into the room.

"Excuse me, Doctor." Data tried to push past him, but Hansen got in the way.

"Sir, I do not believe going in there is the wisest course of action."

"Doctor, I believe I can help Doctor Crusher. Let me past, that is an order."

Hansen had no right to refuse his Captain on medical grounds, and stood aside. Data turned to the security officers.

"You are not to let anyone past this door until I expressly tell you otherwise. Not even Doctor Hansen." He walked through. "Computer, secure Doctor Crusher's quarters in a subspace dampening field." That took care of any possible eavesdropping.

"Doctor Crusher, it is Data, may I come in?"

A choked sound came from her bedroom.

"Doctor, I believe I have some news."

"Yes?"

"I do not believe Captain Picard died in the A_dmonisher_ incident. Logs sent to the Admiralty by Admiral Nechayev suggest that Captain Picard remained on the planet that they had departed rather than go with the infiltration team. Those same logs suggest that he was seriously injured, but alive, when the team left him. You are expressly ordered to not divulge that information to anyone."

Beverly looked up with hope in her eyes.

"I do not wish to give false hopes, Doctor. Captain Picard was seriously injured, and much of his lower left leg was removed by the team doctor before they left him. I have been ordered not to pursue him in any way."

She remained still and silent.

"However, I believe that you are not fit for duty, and am placing you on immediate medical leave for the next sixty days. Your shuttle departs tomorrow from the _Enterprise_. You will be accompanied by Ensigns Korax and Yerla to Starbase 356 for psychological help. By the by, I believe Ensigns Korax and Yerla have both undergone intensive Starfleet tactical training, like yourself. An interesting but highly irrelevant fact to the case at hand. Good evening, Doctor." Data walked out of the room. _I was quite subtle. I do hope she picked up on it. Perhaps I should not have said it was 'highly' irrelevant?_

Beverly felt as though she had taken her first breath. _Data, I entirely forgive you for pushing me into the water._

"Doctor Crusher? What the hell did Captain Data say?"

She looked over at Hansen, her eyes still red from crying.

"He said some highly irrelevant things, Doctor Hansen." The look of confusion on his face was evident. Beverly got up from the floor, and began rummaging through her medkit, making a mental note of things that she needed to bring with her. She stopped the bleeding to her forehead, and some of the larger cuts on her arms and hands.

"Doctor Hansen, I should inform you that I have been placed on medical leave. I do not want to talk about it, but I promise I will see you when I get back."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Picard's arms were on fire from the effort his mind had told them to exert. He had been forced up a short, but treacherously unstable wall, relying almost exclusively on his arms to carry him up. But, after two hours of climbing, he had reached the ledge upon which he now perched, pausing to eat a small piece of a Starfleet Ration Bar, and a small sip of water, all he could afford himself until an alternate supply could be found.

The leg felt hot beneath him, a sure sign of the infection he had dreaded. The antiseptic soil of the world had been an insufficient reinforcement to his seriously weakened body, and Picard feared that the antibiotics that he had taken an hour ago had been wasted trying to keep his failing body from succumbing to the injuries he had sustained, but it may have prolonged that death somewhat. It had now been many days since he had seen the Admiral and her team disappear down one of the halls. Had it been a week? Maybe two? Without the sun coming up every day, Picard had a difficulty telling the passing of days. He had slept a total of fourteen times, but each time had only felt like a few hours, and so he was unable to use that as a calendar. It didn't really matter all that much, he supposed, the number of days that had passed was immaterial to his deteriorating situation.

Picard paused and listened, he could hear their approach from dozens of metres away. Two M'loi were making their way down the tunnel, and towards the ledge that he was on. Picard swore softly to himself, and placed his back against the outcropping on one side of the tunnel entrance, on one knee so that he could act quickly. He hoped that they would come to the tunnel entrance, see nothing, and turn back, but held his combat knife ready. Picard preferred not to kill, which was not driven by any sort of moral code in this case, but rather the practicality of the situation. Every corpse that the M'loi found would give them another chance to track down Picard and kill him. Every corpse found was just another opportunity for Picard to die. Every corpse found indicated another fight, and Picard was not sure he'd be able to win them for much longer.

The two individuals had come to the arch of the tunnel now, and peered out. Picard flashed a picture of Beverly into his mind to calm himself. _She had looked stunning that day in the holodeck. A cream coloured jacket and skirt, and her magnificently fiery hair under that elegant hat. Her face, so proud, so noble, and so beautiful had been covered by a veil of black lace. _The M'loi were coming closer out of the archway. Picard banished the image from his head. _Her face shouldn't be tainted by what I'm about to do._ Picard sprung from his knees, and caught the farther M'loi by surprise, knocking him off balance, and shoving him off the ledge, Picard could hear his screams as he lost his grip on the edge and began plummeting. The second soldier acted quickly, moving away from the ledge and attempted to bring his weapon to bear, but Picard jammed the blade of his knife into the M'loi's groin, easily cutting through the fabric of his uniform, and striking deep into that sensitive region. The M'loi dropped quickly, and the Captain immediately slashed the knife through the man's throat, silencing his pained whimpers. It seemed like an eternity for him to hear the first soldier's screams cease abruptly, and the crack as he hit the floor made him almost retch.

Picard was breathing heavily, and not just due to exertion. The coppery tang of the blood which now drenched him invaded his nostrils, overwhelming his senses, and casuing him to sway on his knees.

He wept as wiped his knife on the dead man's uniform, and threw the body off the ledge. Picard waited until he heard it hit the ground, and crawled through the arch. _What the hell am I doing?_ I_ should have just stayed at the entrance, taken a few down with me, and died in combat._ He was pretty sure that his name wouldn't have been forgotten. Hell, he might have even had a statue of himself at Starfleet Academy, unveiled at a beautiful memorial service. His friends would have mourned him, and the Admiralty would have lauded him as a hero, he'd be famous in the Federation News Service, a family name. He didn't have to do this, and no one would ever know. _I want to die. I don't want to do this anymore._ But, unbidden, an image of Beverly flashed in his mind.

_I can't. I can't die without at least fighting for a chance to see her again_, _and even if I can't...When the fall is all that is left, it matters a great deal. _He wasn't doing this to be a hero. He was doing this for her.

It took, in his estimation, four hours before Picard came to a large, duranium door. Rummaging about on the wall beside it, he lifted a leaver and released the locking mechanisms that were keeping it in place. With great difficulty, Picard managed to wrestle the door open enough for his eyes to peer out. The sun was blinding, and he was glad the door hadn't sprung open of its own accord after the lever had been pulled. He waited behind the door for his eyes, deprived of natural light for so long, to become used to the glare of the star. He looked at his hands, and saw them in the sunlight for the first time in so long; they were crusted with dirt and sweat and blood and tears. It took almost fifteen minutes for Picard not to wince at the light in his eyes, and he finally resolved to move the door enough for him to get out. His legs was hurting, and he had to prop himself up with the wall before he was able to get enough leverage to move the mass of duranium. When the door had opened another half metre, Picard slipped out into the sunlight. It felt hot, very hot. It was only, Picard knew, around 20 degrees centigrade, room temperature, but against the skin that had grown accustom to the damp, dark cold of the mesa, it was scorching. It was at least a kilometre from the doorway that he was standing in to the edge of the treeline that was his goal. _Better get moving, who knows when daylight will fail._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_Fzzt._ Another training target had been hit, and she began to feel a lot better than she had been. The phaser hummed in her hand, and its weight, now seeming to be much more substantial, was a comfort rather than a horror. Her mind was active – more active than it had been in weeks. She looked forward to being away from the ship, to going to find Jean-Luc, _he may be dead. Beverly, don't forget that. He may be dead._ She banished those thoughts from her mind with a shake of her head. He had to be alive, there was no way that the indomitable Jean-Luc had been killed, not in a million years. Captain Data had not furnished her with any other details of the Admiralty report that had sent him to her quarters last night. However, when she returned to her quarters from the shooting range, her computer had been accessed and a tourist brochure for 'Beautiful Gyras IV' was open on the screen, and a note saying it was not really relevant to anything, but a very nice brochure nonetheless. She couldn't help but smile at Data, knowing that he thought that he was being ever so subtle, that his regard for Sherlock Holmes and the shadow games that his fictional hero had engaged in gave him a solid understanding of subterfuge. It _really_ didn't.

"Computer, access all geological, geographical, and biological for planet Gyras IV."

"Information about Gyras IV is classified by Starfleet Executive Order 54227."

Classified? "Classified by whom?"

"That information is classified." _Of course it is._

"Access classified information on Gyras IV, authorization Crusher two-two-beta-charlie."

"Authorization not accepted. These files require Starfleet Beta level clearance or higher."

Beta level was commanding officers or higher. "Computer, locate Captain Data."

"Captain Data is on the bridge."

Beverly made her way to the bridge, and stepped out onto the command deck of the _Sovereign-_class ship. During times of war, lights were lowered throughout the ship, giving the bridge a conspiratorial look. _Which is perfect, I guess._

"Captain, may I see you in your ready room?"

"Doctor, you know that Starfleet regulations prohibit non-serving crew members to access the bridge..."

"Captain, I am well aware of regu-"

"You have been relieved of duty, Doctor. Please leave the bridge."

"But...Data, I-"

"Doctor, you will leave the bridge, or I will have you escorted to your quarters."

She turned, her face hot with embarrassment. Many of the officers on the bridge averted their eyes, and turned red themselves, and some looked at her with pity. _Fuck off. I don't want your pity._ She stormed off the bridge and into the turbolift, giving some time for her to cool off from the fire of anger that had ignited in her.

When Beverly finally reached her quarters, she immediately locked the doors.

"Computer, subspace transmission to Captain William T. Riker of the _USS Titan_, priority one."

"Working...transmission will occur in 8 minutes and 17 seconds."

_Now what do I do? _

She wandered through her quarters, when she spied something that made her tear up. A glass frame, with an old style photograph of her and Jean-Luc on their last vacation together. It was a small bistro in Milan where they had been having dinner a few years ago. They both looked happy, everyone looked happier when there isn't a war on. She smiled as she remembered that night. He had shown up to her room with a large bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of Picard wine. They had drunk the whole bottle together in less than half an hour, and decided they would go out on the town for a bit. During dinner at the bistro, she had continue to drink, and told him that she had wanted to take him dancing. Picard had not expected the pounding bass and flashing lights of the dance club she had dragged him to. It gave them a blessed amount of anonymity, away from those who would know them as Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher, and she had allowed herself to let go a bit crazy. The music encouraged her to dance a little closer to Jean-Luc that the traditional waltz would have, and they had shared small kisses and nuzzled each others necks, delighting in the smell and feel of each other. Soon she was dancing with her back to him, and her arms around his neck, feeling the sweat that poured off him, and knowing that she glistened with a sheen of it herself. They spent the rest of the night at the club grinding on each other, their hands playing up and down each others' bodies, savouring their irresponsibility. She would have taken him right there on the dance floor, in front of everyone, if she thought she could have gotten away with it. From the feeling of him pressed against her back, she knew that he had been thinking along those same lines. In the end, though, they had been requested at Starfleet Headquarters for a luncheon briefing, and really couldn't refuse. They barely had time to get back to their own rooms to shower and change, let alone anything else. She had barely been able to suppress the laugh when she heard Admiral Halley as Jean-Luc where the marks on the back of his neck had come from. _My nails and teeth, Admiral. My nails and teeth._ She shot him a look that had caused his neck to flush a deep, alluring red, and he responded quietly that he had a painful run in with a cat. When they had been alone during a changing of venue, she had come up close to him and purred softly into his ear. He had sat with his legs crossed for the rest of the meeting.

The picture had been cut by some of the glass of the frame, and she desperately tried to put it back together, thinking that the memory was tied inextricably to the photograph. It hurt her to think that, in her rage, she had done something like that.

Her mind turned to a pressing question: _Why had Data done that? Why the hell did he make it seem like he didn't care?_

"Doctor Crusher, subspace communications have been established with the _USS Titan._"

"Beverly? What's wrong? Priority one communications are-"

"I know, Will. Jean-Luc is missing."

"Missing? He was on that mission with Admiral Nech-"

"The Admiral's ship was destroyed before we were able to rendezvous with it." Will had a shocked look on his face, and opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but Beverly answered it for him, "no, Jean-Luc wasn't on board, or at least we don't think he was. We believe he's on a planet called Gyras IV. Ever heard of it?"

"Not that I know of. Listen, Beverly, whatever your planning, you don't want to resign and go on a wild turkey hunt. Starfleet will get him-"

"No, they won't. Now, I've been relieved, Will. There was an..incident, and I have been placed on medical leave for the time being. I'm being ordered to Starbase 356 to undergo head shrinking, but I'm going to dodge out and go after him. Will, you know better than anyone-"

Another voice came from the communication, "Beverly! How are you doing? What...what's wrong?"

Will spoke in his wife's ear, and her face lost its usual colour and went ashen. Beverly suspected that Will had told her about the _Admonisher._ Her look went from devastation to concerned when he told her that Beverly thought that he was still alive. "Beverly, you aren't going to do anything...foolish, are you? I know the Captain would rather you be safe on the _Enterprise_ than out looking for him."

"I can't just sit around waiting for news, because it will probably never come. They just...left him there, alone. I know that you are going to read too far into this, but I feel as though I owe him. I owe him to try and bring him back. If I had been the one to be capture on Celtris III, I know that he'd have tried to get me back, no matter the cost. If it was me on Gyras IV now, he'd be there, looking. I need to go...Deanna, please believe me, I need to go."

"Beverly, I understand what you must be feeling. You're lost, because he was your lighthouse, but he's gone now. Even if you were to find him, you can't say that it is likely you will find him alive-"

"I've been relieved because I was a suicide threat."

Deanna and Will looked back through the viewscreen in silence. Both of them looked like they wanted to say something, but no words came out.

"I heard that he was dead, and I couldn't do anything. I could barely breathe, it was like a weigh on my chest, stopping my lungs from working. I couldn't think of anything by the loss of a man who I have loved for the better part of my life. I never knew I could hurt that much." She chuckled darkly, "you should have seen my quarters. If I wasn't in the bath, I'd take you around and show you. I just about totalled the place. Dirt everywhere, did a number on my hands and arms as well. But what I need from you, Will, is authorization to access files on that planet, Gyras IV. It's beta or higher."

"Beverly, I can't just-"

"You, you can, Will. I am asking you as a friend, and I am pulling in any favours you may have ever owed me. I need this, Will. And if anyone asks, I'll tell them I forged it, or threatened you, or something."

Will looked to his wife, and she nodded. Deanna had never heard Beverly speak openly about her feelings for the Captain.

"Computer, access information pertaining to Gyras IV, authorization Riker gamma-three-seven-epsilon."

"Access granted."

"Computer, transfer all information pertaining to Gyras IV to Doctor Beverly Crusher aboard the _USS Enterprise._"

"Working...completed."

"Computer, erase all record of this information having been accessed and transferred."

"All record of information access has been deleted."

"Beverly, I want to make it absolutely clear: I do not condone your decision to go after Jean-Luc Picard, I don't condone your coming here before leaving for Starbase 356, and I certainly don't condone your use of the Captain's Yacht from the _Titan._" Will broke the subspace channel.

Beverly turned her attention towards the files that came up on the viewscreen. They weren't much, but they were at least something. Six hours until she was to depart on the shuttle. _I suppose I should get some sleep._ She got out of the bath and dried herself. Before going to bed, she had one last thing to do.

"Computer, begin Chief Medical Officer's personal log."

_Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 55785.3_

_I have no idea what I should be feeling right now: excitement? Fear? Hope? Despair? I know that during the past 36 hours, I have had the who gamut of emotion, but now I am feeling alone. Data has cut me loose so that I can pursue the Jean-Luc, but it still hurts, knowing that, officially, I have no friends, and no one to help me if I get into trouble. It's like one of those old movies Jean-Luc used to share with me in his quarters – I'm going off the grid, and behind enemy lines._

_I hope that, before long, I will have Jean-Luc back in my arms again, metaphorically, of course, since I never really 'had him' in my arms. I must confess that I have thought of little else for the past few months, and when I heard that he was dead, killed by a warp core breech when we were only seconds away, I couldn't think. I couldn't imagine what my life would be like without that man, and it scared me to think that my feelings for him nearly put a phaser in my mouth, and my finger on its trigger. Instead of going out to save him, I nearly killed myself because I was too selfish to see that he needed my help. I don't think I will ever get to that point again – I live for Jean-Luc, not die for myself._

_He'd been missing, by my calculations, for eighteen days – eighteen days without supplies or medical care. My head is telling me that he is dead, that there is no way that anyone could survive this long on a hostile planet. But my heart is hopeful, knowing that if anyone could survive those conditions, it's my Jean-Luc. I'll bring him home, one way or another. I won't sit idly by while he is in danger; alone, and afraid, even if he wouldn't admit it to anyone. I'll bring him home, or I'll die trying._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Merde._ Picard's left leg was now quite swollen, and throbbed with pain constantly. He could see that the infection had not come past his knee, but he knew that it would kill him if nothing were done about it. He didn't want to think about what he needed to do next, but told himself that it was required for him to stay alive, regardless of the fact that it made his stomach turn inside him at the very thought of it. The fire in front of him was dying down to the embers, just as he remembered to do from his Starfleet emergency medical training course, and the knife had been sterilized by blackening the blade with the soil of this God forsaken world.

_I need a drink. Something with a bite._ He sighed at the memory of alcohol, at the memory of good food with good friends. Those were things he missed more than a comfortable bed to sleep in or a shower. However, he'd trade all of that for a doctor. _Specifically a certain doctor. I know that she'd be able to lop the knee off better than I could._

He began to cut into the flesh surrounding the bone, using the heated stones on sticks to cauterize the arteries and veins as he sliced through them. The pain was intense, but not overwhelming, much to his infinite surprise. Relief was the term that Picard would best used to describe it, the feeling being much the same as pulling an infected tooth. A sense of healing had come upon it, and he wondered idly if his perceptions were being warped by his situation, his mind simply coping with the absurdity of his situation, and the hopelessness of it all. The flesh had been removed from around the bone, and he steeled himself for what was to come next. Turning the knife upside down so that the serrated edge was in use, he began to saw at the bone, but didn't get far. Gasping at the pain of the experience, he was forced to stop. _How the hell am I going to do this? _His hands shook as he began to saw again, this time with reckless abandon. _Just get it done, cut through, and burn the stump. Hope for the best. If you die, it wasn't for lack of conviction._ The knee fell away, a surreal experience for Picard. _I have just removed a part of me._

His scream echoed through the wood as he dropped his stump in the coals of the fire to sterilize the wound and stop any bleeding. _Not too long, five seconds. Stay strong for five seconds, and then wrap it up. _He clamped down on the fabric between his teeth, willing himself not to vocalize his agony again, lest it be heard by those who wanted him dead. His efforts did not succeed, and the muffled sounds of torment came through the rags of his uniform he was using as a gag, even as his tears ran down his face to soak it.

When the five seconds were up, he withdrew his leg, and wrapped it in the remainder of his uniform, pretreated with a mixture of the soil and some of the final drops of water that were left to him. Convulsions wracked his body for several minutes, as he hugged his arms around himself and curled up. He felt alone, all alone, with only his pain and his pursuers for company. This was better, he conceded, than being tortured by Madred, but only because he got some say in his own fate. But as he lay there, sobbing from the pain as his mind screamed at him to end it all, to give in to his desire to die, he couldn't ever remember being more hopeless or desperate.

_No. The fall matters. You will not end it prematurely._

_Prematurely? What else do I have to go through before I'm allowed to die?_

He awoke some hours later, sore, in pain, but feeling undeniably better. He took the wrappings off of his stump and smelled the wound. It bore the scent of blood, dirt, and burnt hair, but not of corruption or disease. _Was it really that easy? Was this why the British Navy of the nineteenth century was so well regarded, its doctors being able to sever a mans leg relatively cleanly in 23 seconds?_ He rewraped the uniform around it after tenderly cleaning it with a dirt and water solution. It stung like hell, but he knew that it was necessary to stave off another possible infection.

His ministrations paused when he heard a sound from further into the forest. It certainly didn't sound like the M'loi. _Its one of the local fauna,_ Picard moved very slowly and reached for the badly depleted phaser at his side. It had been a long time since he had gutted anything, the last being a fish he had caught while on a camping trip with Will, Data, and Worf in Alaska. He hadn't enjoyed it then, but it was a matter of life and death right now, the flesh and blood of the beast could feed him for over a week. The deer-like thing raised its head, sensing danger, and tried to flee, but it could not outrun the energy beam of Picard's sidearm, stunned by the low power setting of the phaser, it fell to the ground. He moved on the unconscious animal and, taking his knife and a piece of wood that he had fashioned into a crude bowl, emptied its neck of its blood, trusting that it was as nourishing as the blood of goats and cows native to Earth. He hoped the animal had died painlessly, still under the stun effect of the blast, but either way, its death had come swiftly, and its life leaked out of the gash in its neck. He moved to the animal's stomach, slitting it lengthwise from gullet to groin, being sure not to rupture any of the internal organs within it. Its physiology, it turned out, was not entirely different from a Terran deer, with only a few of the organs out of place, and a few that he could not wholly identify. He made quick work of the carcass, stripping it of its skin and fat, and portioning the meat, some thick slices that he would roast that night, and some thin that he would smoke or dry for later consumption. It took him back to that camping trip, the four of them, alone, without outside food, _or women._

They had seen them off the ship, planting kisses on their cheeks before bidding them goodbye. _Like a damned farewell, like we'd never make it._ It was two weeks that they were out there, and by the end of it, Jean-Luc saw them as brothers, friends until the end, as they saw each other. When they had gotten back up to the ship, the ladies were waiting for them. Deanna for Will, Janine for Data, Halza for Worf, and Beverly for Picard. The four men had said hello, and then made immediately for the holodeck, leaving the women waiting outside as the four of them engaged in a friendly bout of sparing to ease the tensions of the trip. Data, predictably, won the bouts handily. Picard had managed a fluke win over Worf by employing a dance move that Beverly had taught him to skirt what would have been a knock out blow, and had bested Riker as a longswordsman, and so was awarded second place. They had come out of the holodeck battered, bruised, bloody, and laughing. Even Worf had seen the humour in the situation, and he had clapped the other three on the back, smiling and joking with them as Picard had never seen him do before. Excusing themselves from the women, and had gone directly to ten-forward, where they had commenced drinking and singing a mixture of Klingon verse and old human folktales until the wee hours of the morning. He had woken up late the morning after with a wicked headache, and had been forced to endure Beverly's joviality at his predicament, and was required to promise her never to be late for breakfast again before she would give him something for the hangover.

The meat seemed to be wholesome as it was cut, and Picard had forced down half a pint of the animals blood, gagging on it while telling himself that it was going to keep him strong. His body needed fuel if he was going to get well again, regardless of how he felt about the fare. Building a small fire in the remnants of the last one, he sat back and began to cook the meat he had gathered, enough in his estimation to keep him reasonably well fed for the next two weeks or so if he were careful. Thin strips of the meat he hung above the fire to smoke, trying to infuse some flavour into the bland flesh. He took a bite from one of the roasted steaks, and sighed. It didn't have any taste, it was tough and chewy, and it smelled slightly of blood, _but at least it isn't a fucking ration bar. I swear to the high heavens that if I make it out of this, I will have the Starfleet Quartermaster General eat a dozen of them. I imagine we'll have better tasting bars after that._

His mind turned to his situation, and he reviews the truths that he needed to embrace. He knew that he probably would never leave this world, and knew that Starfleet wasn't looking for him. It was very likely that Alynna Nechayev had declared him dead in her official report. There would be no need for Starfleet to send anyone after a body.

His leg began bothering him, and he was forced to shift the way he was sitting, making the stump hurt even more. A deep booming in the distance heralded a coming storm.

_Oh, that's great. As if things could get worse._

The wind had picked up, and it was threatening to put out the fire. He could see the sky flash green as a bolt of lightning ripped across from cloud front, momentarily lighting up the world around him. He looked about himself for some shelter and decided on a fallen log some twenty metres to his left, the remains of what must have been a vast tree that had been uprooted sometime in the past. He gathered his things, and put out the fire. It was probably going to be another horrid night, but atl east his own situation had been ameliorated somewhat by his emergency surgery the night previous, and by the serendipitous event of finding enough food for the time being. The rain began to drop, and he was pleased to note that it had a sweet taste to it. Using the bowl that had held the animal's blood, he let the precipitation fill it, and time and time again, he drank thirstily, grateful for this small boon in the midst of his troubles. For the first time in weeks, his dreams were that of hope, rather than death.

_"We have located the human. He is situated 42695 metres to the west of the mesa. The upper atmospheric plasma storm is making it impossible for shuttlecraft to travel. We ask your permission to wait for the system to pass."_

_"The auguries are good, Savant, very well. The moment you are able, find him and kill him."_

_"Yes, Perceptor. It shall be as fate decrees."_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Computer, ETA to the _Titan_?"

"If current speed is maintained, this shuttle will rendezvous with the _USS Titan_ at 1724 hours."

Beverly fidgeted in her seat. Only two hours left before the end of the four day journey, some days being cut off the trip by fortunate astronomical anomalies opening up shorter lanes of travel; in her mind, this was both a blessing and a curse. She still didn't quite know how she was going to get the ensigns to go along with her to Gyras IV, and not simply take her into custody and frog march her onto Starbase 356. She had to make it look good – to do anything less would be to put Will's career in jeopardy, not to mention the careers of the two young women who were escorting her, and she wanted her own career to be the only professional casualty of this excursion. As a doctor, she had taken an oath to do no harm, and that precluded simply stunning the pair of security officers with a phaser, which would have been far easier, but not quite her style. An idea can to her mind – two hours was cutting it close, but it was worth a try, and she was entirely out of options. Offering a silent prayer to whatever gods protected the foolish, she made her way to the cockpit.

"Ensign Korax, I have been notified of a case of Algerinian Influenza aboard the _Titan._ It will be necessary to inoculate you against it. Ensign Yerla will have to undergo the same. Please come to the crew cabin."

Ensign Bellia Korax looked at her companion, who nodded. Getting up from the co-pilot's seat, she made her way to the crew cabin, and sat down, gathering her black hair in her hand, she exposed her neck to the doctor. With a soft _hiss_, the vaccine entered her blood, and coursed through her veins.

"Thank you, Ensign. Please ask Ensign Yerla to join me."

A few minutes later, both ensigns had been protected against the Algernian flu, not that there was any reason to do so. If the _Titan_ had an outbreak of it before they got there, St. Elizabeth of Hungary would no longer be unique. _Not that it matters._

An hour later, both ensigns came into the crew compartment complaining of fatigue and soreness. An hour and fifteen minutes later, and both of the security officers assigned to watch over Crusher were sprawled out on the couches, soundly and firmly asleep as the vaccine took hold. They'd be out for another couple of hours, and then groggy for a day after that, depending on how physically fit they were. _I'd wager they'll be out and about in less than a day, considering they're in better shape than I am._

Beverly made her way to the console, and took it off autopilot, wanting to make some minor course changes to give her physician's fingers practise on the shuttle before ditching it for the Captain's Yacht. It would be a long week on the yacht if Korax and Yerla didn't agree with her, and she could be facing a suspension, or even the possibility of losing her medical license for what she had just done, not to mention assault charges from the two ensigns personally. She would plead guilty to it all, of course, but she was not going to stop until she had the answers she sought.

"Approaching the _USS Titan._"

Beverly didn't hail them, as regulations demanded. Instead, she ask the computer, "Computer, are the shields on the _Titan_ activated?"

"Negative."

"Computer, prepare to beam three to the Captain's Yacht of the _Titan. _Initiate an interface with the _Titan's main_ computer, and bypass by accessing the replicator control circuits in the secondary core systems group, and reroute those circuits to feed into the auxiliary sensor net. Once access has been established, upload program _alpha-1_ into the sensor net and run program. After doing so, shut down all power systems on board this vessel, and delete sensor readings, occupancy logs, and flight plan from the shuttles memory. Authorization Crusher two-two-beta-charlie."

"Acknowledged."

Beverly marvelled at the ease of committing these crimes. _I suppose that is why Starfleet vets its command level officers thoroughly. They certainly did a hell of a job on me..._

"The shuttle is in transporter range of the _USS Titan._ Standing by."

"Computer, three to beam up. Energize."

She heard the beep of acknowledgement from the computer, and found herself on board what she could assume to be the Captain's Yacht of the _Titan._ It was a well appointed cockpit, with the seats being leather, and a dark maroon carpet beneath her boots. It smelled faintly of pinewood, and she marvelled at the fact that it _was_ finished with real wood. They two ensigns were sprawled on the floor at her feet, not conscious, but breathing easy. _Well, that's a relief__._ The computer board had a message blinking on it. She tapped the panel, and smiled.

"Captain, sensors report that an unauthorized transport just took place. Three occupants of the unidentified shuttle just beamed aboard...the Captain's Yacht?" Lieutenant Gaarl reported from his post at tactical.

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Put the shuttle on main screen."

"Yes, sir. Shuttle on main-" The Lieutenant paused.

"Lieutenant?"

"Sensors are on the fritz, sir. I can't get a positive lock on anything, including the shuttle. Sir! The internal sensors have been locked out, I can't even access them manually. We're blind."

Will sat in his command chair, stunned. He figured he'd have to order the Lieutenant to look the other way, but Beverly...that had come out of left field. _I didn't give her enough credit, it seems._ He fought to keep the smile off his face, remembering what he did to the old _Enterprise_ sensors during a war games exercise.

"Riker to Commander Tarah. Sensors are down, Scott, give me a time when they won't be."

"Uh, well. I don't exactly know what happened yet, sir. Computer says that we received a program from the shuttle, hacker by the name of Howie or something, trashed the sensor net. Whoever it was, he really knows his way around a computer, sir. I'd estimate it'll be at least another hour or two before we even know what the hell it is, there are lockout on top of lockouts. It's pretty impressive."

"Alright, Commander. Keep me posted." Will sighed.

_Beverly,_

_Will is planning on taking the sensors down for a maintenance cycle when you beam aboard the yacht. That should give you enough time to get away. We stored a few goodies for you in the rear cargo hold, and have uploaded a new transponder signal into the computer. It should make you look like a Ferengi ship to anything that doesn't look too close. When you are ready to leave, there is a program in the yacht's computers called Undock. Execute the program, and it will override the docking clamps._

_Please delete this message after reading it. Good luck, Beverly. Bring him home._

Beverly wondered idly what goodies those were. Knowing Deanna, some real chocolate pudding lay in some stasis containers. She glanced at the command panel – the ship was still clamped to the _Titan._

"Computer, disengage docking clamps with the _Titan._"

"Unable to comply. Docking clamps are protected by a security lockout."

"Computer, execute program _Undock."_

"Working."

Beverly waited, hoping that the program would work. Her heart started beating again when she heard the mechanical clanking of the docking clamps disengaging from the yacht. She threw the ship into full impulse, and took it to warp when it was clear of the _Titan, _the viewport showing the graceful lines of stars as they passed at many times the speed of light. She wandered to the cargo hold and had a look inside. There were boxes, half a dozen of them, all locked. At the same moment, the computer recognized someone was in the cargo hold and the lights snapped on.

"Security alert. This is a restricted area. Identify yourself."

"Uh...Doctor Beverly Crusher."

The computer beeped its acknowledgement. "Identity confirmed as Doctor Beverly Crusher."

The boxes opened themselves, revealing an impressively stocked arsenal of weaponry. Hand phasers, phaser rifles, Romulan and Klingon pattern disruptors, solid projectile weapons, and photon grenades. Inside two of the others she found Starfleet Special Operations combat fatigues and prepackaged meals in stasis containers. In the last two lay tactical gear, knives, body armour, sensor nets, and transporter dampeners. This was the good stuff, all stuff she needed, and all stuff that she hoped she wouldn't have to use. Still, she felt a lot more comfortable with what was coming up with the phaser rifle in her hands. Continuing to look at the equipment arrayed before her, her eyes spotted a small, grey device, laying at the bottom of one of the container within a box. The box opened at her touch, and a small written note was within it.

_This is an emergency subspace transponder. Use it at only the end of need. _She didn't recognize the writing, and was sure it wasn't Will's or Deanna's.

She put it down, and went to check on her 'patients'. _Damn. No chocolate._

Captain Riker walked into his ready room, and a beep sounded, alerting him to a waiting message. He accessed his computer, and the screen turned black. Text splashed across the screen.

"This is a friend. Your sensors are experiencing a cascade failure..." she walked him through how to bring the sensors back up, and how to purge her program from his system, "I hope this helps. Anyway, I'll try to return your ship. If I don't, you know what happened."

"Computer, delete record of all messaged sent and received in the past fifteen minutes."

"All records of sent messages deleted. No messages have been received in the past fifteen minutes." Riker's eyebrows raised.

_Hot damn, Beverly. I really didn't give you even close to enough credit._ He didn't even know that she knew how to do this stuff. Hell, he didn't know how to do this stuff. He tapped his combadge, "Scott, I think I've solved your problem." Riker listened the the response from his Chief Engineer, "yes, I am, Scott, and I don't think that's how you are supposed to address your commanding officer. You know, I am not entirely incompetent with engineering..." Will grinned. _Time to earn some points._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_"This is Perceptor S'anna. You will find the human before it is dark again. Its last known location was at grid reference 72-laji. It will not have gone far. It shall be as fate decrees."_

The flyers screamed out from the orbiting ship, bearing down on the small forest in which Picard had taken refuge. Unbeknownst to him, he had been detected by the phaser discharge he had used to stun his meal the night before.

_"This is Savant Ra'alar. We are proceeding to target location. Set compressors to wide dispersal. Level the forest."_

That order likely saved Picard's life, for when he heard the M'loi fighters screaming in, with weapons blazing, he awoke with a start, and immediately assessed the situation. Grabbing his equipment and a small amount of the rations that he had built up, he crawled as fast as he could perpendicularly to where he thought they were coming from. Looking to the west, he saw a rapidly closing wall of fire and dust, announcing the path of fire that the M'loi had decided on for their burning. His stump was throbbing as it was smashing into tree and rock in his haste to escape the death that he would suffer should he fail to move fast enough. It was, perhaps, a blessing when he lost his footing and tumbled down into a small ravine between two great trees. The two wooden giants were vaporized, but Picard was kept relatively safe by the metres of soil between him and the blast, only feeling an intense wave of heat wash over him, like bright sunshine.

The flyers, deafening in their speed and power, stormed past, continuing their path of devastation through what Picard had lately considered his home. His spirit sank as he considered this, remembering his hope from only the night before. It had finally began to look up, but that had ended with this morning's raid. _Where am I to go now?_ He certainly couldn't stay here, not now. A few seconds after the fly-by, the wall of smoke and dust came rushing in, kicked up by the low flying vehicles travelling at immense velocities. It was moving so fast that it mostly flowed right over the embankment under which he was taking refuge, but the choking particles and intense heat made Picard dive for cover once more. Shielding his face and head as best he could with his arms, he received only minor burns to his neck and hands – minor, but still very painful. The forest burned around him, and a wind was kicking up.

_Firestorm? _

He groaned onto one knee, and looked about for an escape. Noticing that the ravine he was in had a small stream running through it, he made for that, its cool water helping to sooth the pain he was in, wetting his parched and dust clogged throat. Picard began to move down the ravine, staying close to the rill that meandered its way through it, hoping that it would let out somewhere where he could set up another camp, and rest. Picard had been walking for ten minutes before beginning to feel nausea, and attempted to down some water to quell his raging innards. Almost immediately he vomited the contents of his stomach, and fell to his side, clutching his middle, breathing heavily. _Was the water poisonous?_ He hadn't had any problems with it before, but something may have been in this creek. Picard groaned, and got back to his hands and knees, and started to move again, noting that there wasn't anything for it but to keep moving, hoping that whatever was causing this malaise would pass quickly, and without too much pain.

Another half an hour of travel brought him to the edge of the ravine, which spilled out onto a wide plain, lush with grass, and canals of water. _The briefing noted a small indigenous population of humanoids, at a classical level of development. These canals would seem to indicate their presence somewhere close. I should be care- _Smoke was rising far in the distance. Too much smoke for it to be the normal output of a settlement from this era. He moved towards it, curious as to what was occurring.

It took over two hours for him to find the source of the smoke. It had been a village of perhaps two or three hundred people. Bodies lay, half burnt, amongst the wreckage of the buildings they had once called their home, pain evident in the last moments of their too short existence. Livestock had been slaughtered by the dozen, and lay strewn in the streets where they had fallen, charred to ruin. _What the hell happened here? _Picard continued to investigate the ruins, hoping to find some clue as to how the fate of these people had come to pass. He saw a glint that seemed oddly out of place in what he thought was a burnt out grist mill. A shiny, metallic device – a Starfleet combadge. _How did this get here?_ The puzzle was beginning to piece itself together.

A combadge had been lost or dropped by one of the officers on this planet at some point in the past. These villagers had found it, and kept it as a trinket, or oddity. Perhaps more likely, the chirping noise the badges made when tapped had made it a relic or holy symbol to these people, perhaps a way to talk to their gods. When the M'loi had come, times had become difficult. Strange beings, in flying ships and possessing the power of light had invaded their world, and they asked for guidance from their deities, whoever they might have been. Someone had tapped the combadge, and its signal had alerted the M'loi to this village, bringing their destruction, likely by the same flyers who had just wrought similer devastation on his forest.

He remembered his experiences with the Mintakans many years before. He had convinced them that he was not their god, but he knew the truth of the words 'any sufficiently advanced technology was indistinguishable from magic.' He picked up the combadge, and placed it carefully in his pocket, not touching the activator pad with his fingers, lest it alert the M'loi to someone else tampering with it.

The nausea had come back. Picard rested his head in his hands, steadying himself from the dizziness that had overtaken him. He was able to keep down a small sip of water and a tiny piece of ration bar - it would have to be enough for now, and Picard forced himself to move into the wood that bordered the remains of the village. _Am I to be a tree dweller for the rest of my days?_ So long as his pursuers believed him dead, he should be safe, at least for a little while. His leg had stopped being acutely painful, and had turned to a dull throb, a hopeful sign for Picard, who was starved for good omens of late. Making it to the treeline some twenty minutes later, he set about making camp immediately, feeling too tired to do anything else. A small fire was lit, and around it had been placed a ring of moderately sized stones, which Picard would use to heat his sleeping blanket for the night. Laying down, he forgot entirely about those rocks, and entered into a fitful sleep, his guts wrenching inside of him.

Three mostly uneventful days passed afterwards. He continued to feel nausea well in side him, and his mind was fuzzy, simple tasks took far longer than normal for him, but he chalked it up to the distraction his stomach was giving him, and the splitting headaches that were becoming sadly frequent. The burns on the back of his neck were not healing, it seemed, but he couldn't see them to check what was the matter. He was travelling farther into the forest that surrounded the burnt village, hoping to find some hard shelter where he could set up a more permanent camp. During the last couple of hours, he had taken on a far worse fever than he had before he set about the second amputation. _Is the infection back?_ The wound held no signs of mortification or corruption, and smelled healthily of blood. In fact, it almost seemed like it had begun healing over, much to his relief. _It must be something in the water, then, causing my headaches and nausea. And this damnable fever._ He would die as assuredly from dehydration as he would from any waterborne illness, but he would have to be more careful from now on and boil all of the water he was going to use for consumption. It would be a time consuming, but necessary precaution to take from now on. He would need to find a place to store three litres of water for his daily consumption. He had no way of safely carrying it with him, which meant that finding a permanent shelter would be even more important. It took him another day and a half of scouring the wood to find a suitable site. It was a shallow cave, perhaps only three metres deep, and two metres in length and height, but it would be far more than enough. It was at the bottom of a small gorge, which could present some problems if the area got a significant amount of rain, but that would be something he would have to deal with later. By the time he set up everything that he needed, he was exhausted. He shook his head to clear it, and a wave of dizziness overcame him, and he collapsed onto the floor, convulsing. Pain shot through his head from an intense headache, and he fell into an abyssal unconsciousness.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Beverly's tricorder went off. _Uh, oh. The sleeping beauties are waking up. _Putting the yacht on autopilot, she removed herself from the cockpit, and moved into the luxurious common room. The two young ensigns weren't stirring yet, but it would be only a few minutes before the accusations started flying. _I hope I don't need this._ Beverly placed a hand phaser on the couch underneath her medical bag. It was always better safe than sorry.

"Uuugh," groaned Ensign Yerla, running a hand over her face and eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from them. Korax made similar noises and motions, Beverly waited patiently.

"Doctor? What-" Bellia Korax said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No, don't. Lay still, the vaccine had an adverse effect on your systems. You've been out for a few hours."

"Have we made it to the _Titan_ yet, Doctor?" Rachel Yerla asked.

"Uh, yes, we did. However, we moved on shortly after." The impact of that statement didn't quite register in either of their minds just yet.

Beverly brought them some water to soothe their parched throats, and then had them lay back down. It would be another hour before they were ready to discuss what was going to be happening here on out. They autopilot would alert her to anything that needed her attention, and so she stayed with the two women, to watch their progress. _So, I wonder how this is going to go. I know that if someone dosed me to shut me up, I'd be mad as hell. Maybe these two don't have my temper, _she smiled wryly. _I can always hope._

"Doctor, this isn't the shuttle. Where are we?"

Beverly cleared her throat, and responded quietly. "We're on the Captain's Yacht."

Bellia sat up and looked around, her eyes clear. "Doctor, what's going on?" Her face was hard despite her youth, and her look narrowed, "we're not going to Starbase 356, are we?"

"No." Crusher reached her hand underneath her medical bag slowly.

"Then where, Doctor? You were ordered to report to Starbase 356, and we were ordered to take you there. You better have a damned good reason for essentially drugging us, abducting us, and stealing Starfleet property." Rachel looked around as she said it.

"Yes, I do, Ensign." Beverly's hand closed around the hilt of the phaser.

"Out with it, sir. Where are you going?"

Beverly sighed. She didn't want to have to say, but it looked like she'd have no choice. _I knew they'd ask. Obviously, they'd ask._

"Captain Picard was ordered to go on a special ops mission to a planet called Gyras IV. He was supposed to come back with Admiral Nechayev aboard the _Admonisher,_ but was left planetside because of injury. I'm getting him back, whether or not you come."

"Why didn't you beam us to the _Titan _after you stole the yacht? Why take the chance of having us on board? We were ordered to get you to Starbase 356, after all."

"I, uh, I hoped you would help me get Jean-, Captain Picard back." She looked uncertainly at the two young officers.

"Why didn't you just ask? I mean, I'm sure that Starfleet wants Captain Picard back just as much as you do."

"No, they don't, and that's why I'm pissed off. They weren't going to mount any rescue, and so I thought-"

The two young ensigns looked darkly at each other. "Can we have a minute or two to talk, Doctor?"

_At least they haven't tried to hit me yet._ "Of course. I'll be in the cockpit."

Beverly got up slowly, and managed to slip the phaser below her jacket when the other two weren't looking. It wouldn't do to have them know that she'd have shot them if she needed to.

Five minutes later, there was a knock on the cockpit door, and the two ensigns came back. Their faces were stern.

"We need to know the score here, Doctor. What exactly happened?"

Beverly sighed. "You know most of it. He was sent on the mission, didn't come back, but wasn't dead when they left him."

"We had heard that he had died on the _Admonisher._"

"That is the official report, yes."

The next question was from Yerla, and she seemed hesitant. "Is this a rescue, or...a return of a body to the family? He's been down there for a while..."

"I don't rightly know. I hope it's a rescue, but I'll be bringing him back either way."

The two were silent for a short time, until Rachel nodded slowly to Bellia, "we're in."

Beverly smiled softly, and released a breath that she hadn't know she was holding. "Thank you." It was a very quiet thanks.

"Is this all we have? The three of us, and probably a half dozen hand phasers? If I recall, the Gyras system was currently on the front lines in the war." Korax looked to the Doctor.

"We have enough supplies, weapons, and gear to get us in and out with minimal problem, if we're lucky."

She took them into the cargo hold, and gave then access to the supplies chests. A low whistle came from Rachel as she looked over the gear.

"You weren't kidding. We could fight a small war with all this. How ever did you manage to swing this? Doctors don't exactly need the latest in anti-vehicle weaponry, do they?"

Beverly laughed, for the first time in a long while.

"Not usually, no. They do when they go to hostile planets, saving their lov-" She turned a deep scarlet, "-Captains. When they go saving their Captains." She looked away, horrified that she had let that slip.

"Doc, we know. Everyone in the fleet knows. Hell, they're probably gossiping about you and the Captain on Qo'nos and Romulus right now, as well." Rachel smirked at the Doctor, "when did it start?"

Beverly stared at her, "It it necessary for the mission?"

"No, but there is a betting pool around it. One of the largest in the Federation. Hell, there are planets that have pitched together to buy in. There is a killing to be made knowing when you two were finally going to get together."

"Uhm, no, no one has won yet, then." She didn't really like talking about this, but the smiles on these young womens' faces were infectious. She couldn't help but grin at the idea that Jean-Luc and her were at the centre of a quadrant wide lottery. _So much for secrecy, then._ She sat silent for a minute.

"What is our ETA to the planet?" Bellia asked, breaking the quiet with her question.

"I'll go check." Beverly got up, and went to the cockpit.

After the doctor had gone, Bellia Korax turned to Rachel Yerla, and spoke softly. "Do we have a chance? I mean, not just for her, but to bring him back?"

Rachel thought briefly, and then replied. "Yes, we do. We won't let Papa die."

"Papa?" Beverly returned. "ETA is 93 hours. Who's Papa?"

Rachel turned a bright red colour, "Uhhh, uum,"

"Most of the junior officers and enlisted crew call Captain Picard 'Papa,'" Bellia replied for her college happily, "we all think of him as just that, a father figure, well, most of us do." She glanced at Rachel who turned and even shinier shade of scarlet. A look shot from Yerla's eyes to Korax that could stun a Klingon, but she cheerfully continued, "but some of the younger officers and crew members think of him differently. Many of the young women, and even a good number of the young men think he's..."

"Bellia Korax, if you don't shut you fucking mouth this instant, I'll take you down," Rachel was positively livid at her friend.

Beverly stifled a chuckle. She knew Jean-Luc was an attractive man, lord, did she know that. But she didn't think that attraction carried over the generation gap. It seems that she was wrong. _That would make sense, of course. I'm twenty years his junior, and when I'm with him, I can barely keep myself from-_

"Oh? Do you really think you could take me down, Rachel?" She mouthed what Beverly thought was the word _daddy_ at Rachel, who nearly took a swing at her.

Beverly laughed fully at this, "calm down, children. You two need food. That vaccine can be brutal to your systems. I'll replicate some dinner for the three of us. Make yourselves comfortable, and we'll begin planning the rescue of _daddy_." Bellia howled with laughter, and Rachel buried her face in her hands. "And you'll have to tell me how that name came about."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"We're entering orbit, Doctor."

"Scan for human lifesigns." Beverly Crusher's heart was racing,_ this is when I find out if my heart will die._

"Uh, nothing yet, the computer say- no, wait, here, southern continent." Bellia was relieved, until she spotted the lifesigns result. "Doctor!"

Beverly pushed Bellia out of the way, and her lips pursed. The sensors showed that he was alive, but only just.

"Get us into orbit around that area. I'll prepare sickbay." The doctor rose, and quickly left the cockpit, running a mental checklist of everything she'd need for this. It looked as though the patient had been exposed to 6.44 Gy of radiation – _It's Jean-Luc, he's hurt, if you lose, you will –_ she would need to replicate several different treatments, since he had gone untreated for – _lose yourself. You wouldn't survive letting him die on your operating table. It would_ – at least a week, if not more. It also appeared as though he was severely malnourished, likely as a result of – _mean the death of you, and you know it. You would have to –_ the nausea from the ARS. Acute Radiation Syndrome would have manifested already, and the patient would be suffering from, among other things, nausea, diarrhoea, fever, and intense headaches. There could be some – _look everyone in the eyes, and tell them you weren't good enough. You weren't good enough to save the man you – _cognitive impairment, but she should be able to regenerate the synapses that had been destroyed. The artificial heart may experience some – _love. _- difficulty.

"The amount of radiation in his system is making it difficult to transport, Doctor," Rachel commed into the sickbay, "we may need to land to retrieve him."

"Then do it!"

"Yerla to Crusher, there are additional lifesigns moving on the same position. Sensors identify them as M'loi. Looks like a dozen moveing in from the west."

Beverly felt the ship shudder as it entered the atmosphere at high speed. She ran to the cargo bay to get the supplies and weapons that would be needed, not thinking about what might happen.

"Korax to the cargo bay." Beverly's had stripped to her undergarments by the time the Ensign had arrived.

"Suit up."

The tactical gear's fabric felt incredibly smooth on the doctor's bare skin, and she realized that it was temperature controlled, so it would probably fuddle infrared sensors as well as lifesign monitors. She took a phaser rifle from one of the weapons cases, and hefted it in her hands. She looked over to Bellia, as the other woman began to strip her uniform and don the Operations Black of the Starfleet special forces. The young woman's facial ridges were delicate, and being a Ktarian/human hybrid, her looks were delicate, pretty. She knew that Bellia received STI tests every few month, revealing that the young woman had the appetites endemic to her both of her heritages at her age. She had also learned during the last few days that she was anything but the delicate woman that her looks would suggest. It turned out that Korax was a master of two Vulcan martial arts – the Suus Mahna, self defence, and the Tal-shaya, merciful death. She was surprised when the young woman strapped a phaser to her waist.

Bellia saw the look on the doctor's face, and said "hand to hand combat is risky. Better to shoot the bastards." Korax left the cargo hold to man the helm while Rachel came to prep.

The Betazoid/Vulcan woman came into the cargo hold, silent as a stalking hunter. She was striking to say the least, the pointed ears of her mother's side and the blonde hair of her father's met to form and elven-like appearance, giving an exotic look that Beverly knew few species would resist. A highly accomplished marksman and weapons expert, Beverly watched Rachel Yerla check over several phasers before selecting the one she would use. Again, Crusher's look elicited as response.

"I just have a feeling about weapons. This one sits right in the arms."

"Korax to Crusher and Yerla. We've landed, and I will be opening the rear hatch. Are you two ready?"

Beverly looked to Yerla, who nodded. "We're ready, Bellia."

The three officers came out of the yacht in full kit, their visages unreadable behind the black tactical masks that covered their faces, feeding them data, and containing a narrow band transmitter that allowed them to stay in contact with one another without the chance of any interception.

"M'loi lifesigns moving in on the position, they are 300 metres out, and making for this location. Human lifesign thirty six metres to our west, weakening fast." Beverly spoke with crispness, not belying the emotional whirlpool she felt herself in danger of drowning in.

"Copy." The two terse responses comforted her. _At least some people know what their doing._

"Yerla to Crusher. I will move toward the M'loi on the east and hold them back at sixty metres. Korax, stay with the doctor and assist as needed. These tactical suits have transport modules in them. Usually their set for inhibition, but I'll switch to amplification. Get the Captain back to the ship, then beam me out."

The two other women only nodded their assent. Rachel Yerla was a born leader. _I'll have to tell Jean-Luc..._ She wished she hadn't thought that, but it was too late for regrets.

Moving quickly through the thick forest, Korax and Crusher moved towards the lone male human lifesign on the planet, their visors scanning the forest in front of them for any sign of threat.

"Yerla to Crusher. I am set up in my position. I will comm when I have made contact."

_Sixty metres in 40 seconds? That was quick._

"Copy. We are approaching the Captain's location. I will stabilize him before moving him. It will take a minute or two to prepare him for movement."

"Copy. Good luck, Doctor." _Same to you, Ensign._

"Doctor! Over here!" Bellia hurriedly spoke into the comm system.

Beverly sprinted to where the young ensign was kneeling beside the prostrate form of a man, almost unrecognizable from the injuries he had sustained. His skin was black and dead, lesions forming from the radiation he had been exposed to, and his left leg missing from above the knee down. Beverly's heart leapt into her mouth at the sight of him on death's door, and removed her mask to help her breathe. Her tricorder confirmed her fears.

"He needs to be in the yacht _now_. I think I can stabilize him enough to-"

"Yerla to Crusher." There was a note of emotion in her voice, "there are more than a dozen here. We're looking at around eighteen to twenty of them, pressing for the yacht. A few broke off from the main group and went around, be careful. I'm falling back towards the yacht, if you're going to be heading there, now would be the time."

_He is in no condition to be moved._ "Copy that. We're making out way back now."

The soft hiss of the hypospray sounded, sending medication flowing through the Captain's arteries, reinforcing his dying body enough for him to survive the move. Bellia and Beverly carried Picard through the undergrowth, surprised at his lightness. _He's not more than fifty or sixty kilograms. Christ, he's probably not going to make- SHUT THE FUCK UP_. As they neared the yacht, Beverly could hear the sound of phaser fire coming from ahead, and saw the bright yellow compressor beams of the M'loi streaming through the trees, setting trees and brush alight with their heat. Hastening between trees was the form of Yerla, returning fire as she ran. Beverly saw the two M'loi on the ramp of the yacht, fifteen metres away. _Where the hell did they come from?_ Beverly released Picard, and raiser her phaser rifle. She had done well in marksmanship exercises, but those had always been on a phaser range, never the real thing. As she was firing on the soldiers, she heard a sound below her - Jean-Luc awoke, and groaned in what must be immeasurable pain. Beverly knelt beside him, smiled down at him, knowing he thinking coherent thoughts, but hoped that her face gave him some comfort. His gave her nothing but sorrow right now, and the grimace of agony on his features was breaking her heart into a thousand jagged pieces.

_Happening? Pain-hurt-discomfort. Tired-sleep. Danger-weapons-energy-black-mask. Starfleet? Here? Red hair. Woman. _"Valkyrie" He sighed the last word aloud in his delirium.

The tricorder began blaring. "I'm losing you..." Beverly's voice was soft, but her face became hard. _Two M'loi are stopping me from saving him. Two? That's it?_ She adjusted the phaser in her arms. "Watch him, Bellia." Beverly moved off.

Ducking between the trees, she snapped off several wild shots which sent the two flying for cover. Her assault was relentless, fire spewing from the emitter of her phaser until it glowed, and Beverly didn't care. She saw three soldiers moving from the south to reinforce their comrades, but one was blasted backwards from a beam of light shot by Bellia, behind her, and caused the others to dive to the ground. The two on the ramp were firing at the doctor, but they couldn't hit her form, dancing gracefully through the greenery until she was three or four metres away. The looks of surprise on their face were evident as two quick shots slammed into their bodies, and both M'loi fell, smoking, from the yacht. Beverly had not set her phaser to 'stun'.

"The ramp is clear. Rachel, hold it, I'm going back for Jean-Luc."

Fire still issued from the forest, but no M'loi were charging forward like their late, brave comrades. From the relative safety of the ramp, the Rachel continued to lay down suppressing fire until Bellia got the engines warmed up. M'loi compressors were effective anti-personnel weapons, but couldn't do much against the duranium/tritanium hull of the yacht. Lifting from the ground, the Starfleet officers screamed away from the planet.

Beverly's pounding heart calmed as she carried him into the sickbay. He was a patient right now, not Jean-Luc Picard. She would worry about him after surgery – right now, she had a job to do.

"Ensign Yerla, I will require assistance. You will aid me for the first four hours, Ensign Korax will get us out of here. Hopefully, we will be able to get out before we're detected."

Rachel made her way to the sickbay. _Four hours? How long is this going to-_ She stopped when she entered the surgery. Jean-Luc Picard lay there, his form so crumpled and broken, and his face so twisted in agony that she retched. He was so...small. He seem so slight now, the well muscled body that she had admired so often now eaten away by the ravages of his ordeal. His skin was covered in wounds, the black flesh of the lesions painful to look at. Where it wasn't covered in corruption, his body was ashen grey, making him look as though death had already taken him. She couldn't hear his breathing, but the monitor showed that he was, if only just.

"Rachel, I need you to wash up at the sonic basin, and then dress in this gown. We'll be performing some fairly complex procedures, so you'll have to follow my _every _instruction as close to the letter as possible. If you ever start to feel lightheaded or queasy, tell me immediately. The first thing we'll be doing is-" Beverly went into an explanation of the procedure, but the ensign couldn't understand most of it. All she knew was that the doctor was trying to calm her down, and Rachel's heart went out to the woman. Even now, she was trying to help Rachel get through it.

"I'll do my best, Doctor." What else could she say?


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_It's cold. A breeze curls its way through the open windows of my room. I pull the blanket tighter around my body, but it helps little. Outside, I can hear the tree creaking, its boughs being moved with the wind, sounding like a great ship on the sea. The branches scraping against the wood of my house._

_I can feel tendrils of black moving their way up my legs, my hips, and my stomach. I know I need to move, but I am scared, I cannot bear to move the warm comfort of the quilt, but terror grips me. I feel those tendrils up, over my breasts, until they have reached my neck, and they begin to choke me. I sputter, trying desperately to force oxygen into my lungs._

_My hands reach for my throat, trying to pry the darkness from it, but I'm too weak. My arms fall to my side, and I feel my life weaken and leak out of me. I can see my body, laying on the bed. My lips, usually so red, are blue and black, and my eyes hold a look of horror and agony. It is a scene that scares me, but I cannot look away. The blanket moves – whatever killed me is coming out from under it._

_I see red hair. The same red hair that adorns the corpse that so recently was my own body. The pale, delicate face and neck of my attacker comes into view, a hideous simulacrum of her victim. She uncovers herself fully from the bed, and stands, naked and terrible, in the room. I scream to the other occupant of the house, but my ephemeral lungs cause no air give life to the sound. I watch in horror as the pale form pads across the floor, and opens the door, her eyes glowing a devilish pale red in the twilight. She opens the door across the hall, and walks inside. I know what she'll find._

_A man lays there, firm and muscled, handsome in the dim light of the night. How I love him. How I long to save him, but I cannot. He opens his eyes at the sound of the ghoul's approach, and smiles. He recognizes her – he recognizes what he thinks is me. She climbs into bed, and lays next to him fully, seductively entwining her legs with his, and rubbing against him, making him shiver in delight. It is painful to watch, but I cannot look away. He closes his eyes as she begins to nuzzle his neck, making him sigh with the sweet caress of her hands and body on him. Her eyes suddenly alight, and she bites him, and he immediately yells in pain. She pays no mind, and bites him again; the blood flows across the floor, puddling in the nooks of the wood. Her hands reach around his throat, and he dies, believing me to be his killer._

_I wouldn't kill myself. I didn't. I stopped myself. That woman is not me. It couldn't be me._

_Right?_

_...right?_

Beverly awoke with a start from her nightmare in the small sickbay of the yacht, covered in sweat, and gasping for air. Her hands rose instinctively to her throat, and she looked down. She was still in the surgery robe that she had been in for the past thirty six hours. Her hands felt clammy, and her throat dry. _It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream._ She went to the lavatory, and looked in the mirror. Her eyes looked haunted, and she felt...wrong. Something was wrong. _Jean-Luc?_ She moved back to the small room in which he lay, and his lifesigns, while not particularly strong, were at least stable. She went over the events of the past two days, and the memory still made her shake with nerves. She had killed, and she had saved. Was it a balance? _No. I saved much more than I killed.I save him._ Was his life worth more than the M'loi who had died? She hated herself for thinking it, and she hated herself for knowing it to to be true, but _yes. He was worth more to her than a M'loi, or a dozen, or a thousand._ The depth of her feelings, not for the first time, scared her. It was frightening to think what she was capable of in defense of him, or in, God forbid, retribution for him. She traced her hands over the features of his face, the black of the lesions removed by dermal regeneration, the memory of him so battered still sent her mind reeling. How had he survived? Scans showed that the amputation of his leg had taken place _after_ the departure of the Admiral and her staff. Had he done it himself? She shuddered to think what that must have been like, what must have been going through his mind as his own hands gripped the knife that cut his limb from his body. Had he thought of her? Had she gone through his mind even then?

"Oh, my love. My darling." She caressed his face in her long fingers. "You're home." Her hand rested on his neck, and she had the overwhelming urge to tighten it. She pulled her hand away immediately, and flung it into one of the phials on the wall. The glass shattered, sending the content everywhere. Blood streamed from her hand to the floor. She stared. _What the hell is wrong with me? _She threw herself into the corner of the room, and started to shake.

"Crusher to Yerla. How much longer until we make the _Titan_?" Her voice was quiet.

"Uh, around 92 hours, Doctor."

"Increase to maximum warp."

A pause. "Aye, sir. New ETA is 27 hours." Another pause, "is something wrong, Doctor? Is it the Cap-"

"No. No, the Captain is fine. I will be in my quarters. Please inform me if any change occurs. I will check on the Captain in one hour. Please be in the sickbay to meet me at that time. You or Bellia."

"Aye, sir."

_My eyes open, and I get out of bed. Something is drawing me into the room in which my lover lays, blissfully unaware of my presence. I walk into his room, and approach his bed. His eyes are closed, and I move the sheet down, exposing his chest. My nails rake across his skin, drawing thin red lines as they pass over. He looks up in terror, but can't move. My mouth curls into a smile, my teeth white in the dim light of the room. My lips lower to his chest, and I begin to-_

"NO!" Beverly jumped out of bed. She couldn't think, she couldn't get these images out of her mind, but she tried, smashing herself into the wall, hoping to jar the thoughts loose. _Get out! Get out of my head! You don't belong here, whatever you are! I'm not like that! _She flung herself bodily into the wall again and again. _GET OUT!_

"What is that? Banging or something...?"

"I'll check it out." Bellia started to get up.

"No! I mean, I'll do it. Make sure we're still on course for the _Titan._"

Standing, Rachel took one of the hand phasers that were in a small alcove next to the cockpit, and made sure it was set to a heavy stun. Going towards where the sound was coming from, she wasn't surprised that it was the Doctor's quarters.

"Doctor? Doctor Crusher? Are you in there?"

Nothing.

"Computer, open the door to Doctor Crusher's quarters."

"Doctor Crusher's door is locked."

"Open it. Security Override Yerla alpha-three-alpha."

"Security Override not accepted."

_Damn. She is a CMO and a Commander, I suppose._ Taking out the phaser, she set it to a higher setting, and shot at the door. It crumpled as it melted, and Rachel sprang into the room. Crusher was on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from multiple injuries. Blood flecked the room, and it was smeared down the wall.

"Medical emergen-" _Never mind, who the hell am I calling? _"Bellia, get over to the Doctor's room. I need help!"

Rachel could hear Korax running from the cockpit. "We need to get her to the sickbay. I don't think anything's broken, but I didn't want to move her alone."

"What the hell happened?!"

"I'm not fully sure yet, but she needs medical attention. Take her legs..."

They finally managed to get the Doctor into the sickbay, and placed her on the other biobed available.

"Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram."

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

"Doctor Crusher is unconscious. We don't know what happened, but neither of us has much medical experience."

"Good. That's what I'm here for. Please, I can manage alone, thank you." The representation of Doctor Lewis Zimmerman got to work immediately, scanning Brusher's prostrate form.

"She is suffering from a severe concussion and fractured bones along her right side. How did it happen?"

Rachel lied, "I don't know."

"Very well. She will require long term care that I will not be able to offer. We must get to a larger ship."

"We're at maximum warp. 27 hours until we reach the _Titan._"

The EMH looked at her, and nodded. "That will have to do, I suppose."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"_Titan_, this is Ensign Rachel Yerla of the _Enterprise._ Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Doctor Beverly Crusher is on board, and they require immediate medical attention. I would like permission to beam both of them directly to sickbay."

Riker suppressed a sigh of relief at the knowledge that Picard was safe, but the news of their injury brought him back to the stark reality.

"This is Captain William T. Riker of the _Titan._ Lower your shields. We will beam them both to our sickbay. I will alert Doctor Crecy of their arrival. I would like to debrief you and the other officer on the ship immediately. Security will escort you and her to my ready room after you have beamed over. Do not arm yourself. Is that clear?"

"Aye, sir."

"Riker to transporter room one. Beam the two injured humans from the yacht's sickbay to the _Titan's_ sickbay. Beam the two ensigns aboard after that. Security will meet them in the transporter room."

"Aye, sir."

"Sickbay, prepare to receive causalities." He turned to the bridge crew, "I'll be in my ready room."

Will fidgeted behind closed doors. He had wanted to send for Deanna, but thought better of it. He wanted to get a feeling of what exactly went on before he involved his wife any further than she had been. Another minute passed before the doors to his ready room parted to reveal the two young ensigns.

"Sit down. Can I get either of you anything?"

"No, sir."

"No, thank you."

"Very well," Riker took a deep breath before continuing, "I want you to to know that this isn't a formal debriefing. I will not be including anything said here in the official report I will have to make for the Admiralty. Totally off the record. What happened?"

The two ensigns looked at each other. _How much can we trust him_ was the question going through both of their minds. Bellia answered that question first. "No offense meant, Captain, but I don't think we should be answering any of those questions before first talking to Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher."

"Ah. I should tell both of you, and this is equally off the record, that I knew well in advance of your adventure that my yacht would be stolen, and that on board happened to be several crates full of Starfleet Tactical Operations gear. I am, as you might put it, in the loop already about most things. I would like the two of you to clear up the minutiae for me, however. What happened after you left the _Titan?_"

Rachel took her turn to speak, starting hesitantly. "We wouldn't want to do anything that would endanger either the Doctor or Captain Picard..."

Riker smiled. _These two can certainly be relied on._ "Neither would I, Ensign. I served under Jean-Luc Picard for fifteen years, and along side Doctor Crusher for most of that time. I gave up a fair few promotions to remain his first officer, and remain serving along side her, and I don't regret it. I think I have earned the right to know how it came to pass that two of my best friends are in my sickbay."

He could see the internal fight going in inside the two young women. Rachel's expression softened somewhat as the fight came to a close.

"Well, sir, Doctor Crusher, before arriving at the _Titan_, gave Ensign Korax and I a vaccine for the Algerinian flu. That knocked up both out, some sort of reaction or something. Next thing we knew, we were on your yacht, and flying at high warp towards a planet called Gyras IV. Doctor Crusher told us what the score was, and we went along with it. Managed to find the Captain, and the Doctor treated him, and he was in stable condition when we last saw him."

"And Doctor Crusher's injuries? They were sustained on the yacht?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

Rachel hated having to lie to a superior officer, but she hated the thought of anyone but Beverly Crusher explaining her actions even more. She set her face in stone.

"I'm not entirely sure. I found her unconscious in her room, and Ensign Korax and I moved her to the sickbay. The EMH took over after that." Bellia Korax nodded her assent to this version of the story when Riker stuck her with a questioning glance.

Will thought for a minute. _They know more. At least Yerla does. Bright girl. And fiercely loyal, it seems. _

"Very well. Thank you, both. I'll have quarters arranged for the two of you. We'll rendezvous with the _Enterprise_ within the week, but in the meantime, I'd like the two of you to go to sickbay, and be checked out by our Doctor."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Thank you, sir."

"What can you tell me, Val?" Riker walked into sickbay, addressing himself to his Chief Medical Officer, Valarie Crecy.

"No a whole hell of a lot, Captain. Captain Picard seems to have gone through hell, though I have no doubt he looked significantly worse before Crusher got him on her biobed. The Doctor, I'm not so sure about. It looks like blunt force trauma, and the injuries are consistent with falling from a height or being thrown around. Concussion, fractures, significant bruising - almost like the inertial dampeners went offline during some high speed maneuvers, but the two ensigns show no signs of injuries like that, not even bruising from safety harnesses. I really can't say for sure what happened, but I do know that her mind was firing like a Christmas tree before she went out. If it weren't for the obvious injuries, I'd put her problems down to severe PTSD. But either way, she'll be healthy enough to be awakened in half a day or so."

Riker looked over the prone forms of two of his oldest friends, and a sort of heat settled on him. Injures aside, they were both healthy, and, in Crecy's opinion, probably going to be awake in a matter of hours, but that did not make the emotional blow any less.

Beverly was bruised, her normally porcelain white features had turned black and blue under the blows they had sustained. The regenerators and bone knitters whirred and blinked around her. Riker was not used to seeing his friends hurt, even in war.

His heart dropped into his toes, however, as he gazed for the first time on the body of Jean-Luc Picard. Emaciated, ashen, _frail. Weak looking._ He had never met anyone with the strength of spirit or soul of iron that his former Captain possessed. But the strength that once showed on his face was made farcical by the injuries he had sustained over the past weeks. Wounds, cuts and bruises adorned his normally well maintain body, and the missing leg mocked the man who had been the first freshman ever to win the academy marathon. Prosthetic limbs were advanced enough that he would regain most of the function in his legs, but it would still be a terrible blow to the man. Riker felt young, vulnerable, seeing his hero, the giant, the man he most looked up to, hurt this badly, andWill felt the overwhelming need to protect him. _This man is more my father than Kyle Riker ever was. And he's hurt. He was hurt by this war, and he was hurt by the M'loi. But he isn't broken,_ andfor the first time in a long time, Captain William T. Riker, known in Starfleet for his steely resolve and determination, wept like a child for his hurt father.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

A/N: I've been giving both Jean-Luc and Beverly a hell of a time in the past few chapters. Here's some light fluff to mollify some of you :)

His eyes opened, and he could hear the sound of low voices around him. Some of them faintly familiar, some of them foreign to him. _What? Where the hell...?_ He recognized one voice above all, one musical voice. _Her._

"Beverly..." his throat producing a husky whisper, barely audible to those around him.

The voices stopped. A form bent down, low over his face.

"Jean-Luc? Can you hear me?" He felt the warm wetness of tears in his face and neck. She was crying above him.

A smile creased his dry lips. "Beverly. You came for me. You know you shouldn't have. Unnecessary risk." He knew he could get a rise out of her.

"Jean-Luc. Unnecessary risks. An unnecessary risk is talking like that with the first few words you've said to me in three months." Her voice was mock serious, but even with his eyes only half open, he could make out her smile, warm, longing.

He opened his eyes wider. _Just as I remember her. My Beverly, my guardian angel, my Valkyrie._

_Screw decorum._ His hand reached up, and cupped her cheek. He drew her slowly down to him and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Her eyes closed at the contact, and when the moment of eternity ended, she said softly, her voice as tender as the kiss, "that should have been you first word, lover."

Picard could hear voices in the back ground, but paid them no mind.

"What stardate is it?"

"55803.4"

"55803.4? Fuck, missed it by a little less than 7 months. Pass me that PADD there."

"Who got it?" Deanna was looking over her husband's broad shoulders.

"55803...55803, well, I'll be damned."

The list in his hand was a complete roster of who was in one of the the Federation's biggest lotteries – 'When Will Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher Finally Get Together?' There were some big names on that list – politicians, admirals, ambassadors. Hell, even some entire planets and colonies pitched together to enter the pool. Names ranged in culture from Klingon to Romulan.

"Who? Who got it?"

The handsome man turned to his wife. "Richard Galen."

"The archeologist?" Deanna gave Riker a questioning glance.

Riker's eyes stared intently at the PADD and shook his head. "The bet was entered after Docter Galen's death. Richard Galen, however, was used as a psydonym of Jean-Luc's during the incident with the Stone of Gol."

They both stared at their former Captain. Did he know? Was this, in some way, planned by the intensely strategic mind behind that bald head? Who cared – _well played, sir. Well played._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

_Log recorded by Commander Deanna Troi, Chief Ship's Counselor, _USS Titan_._

_ Subject is Doctor Beverly Crusher, Commander and Chief Medical Officer of _USS Enterprise.

_ Subject complains of self-destructive tendencies. Medical files indicate no previous incidents of this type. Standard psychological reports administered by Starfleet show no abnormal tendencies over the past forty two years of Starfleet service. This interview was conducted on Stardate 55804.6. Log transcribed by the _USS Titan's_ computer._

Troi: Beverly, sit down, please. Can I get you anything to drink?

Crusher: No, thank you. So, what, am I supposed to lay on a couch or something? Isn't that what's supposed to happen (_laughs)_. Sorry. I'm just a little nervous. They say doctors make the worst patients.

Troi: I've found they usually are _(laughs)_. So, Beverly, how long has it been since your last counseling session?

Crusher: _(laughs)_ what, am I supposed to come in every six months? No, don't give me that look, I know what you meant. I guess – probably since that shit on Celtris III. When was that…? Doesn't matter, it was with you, regardless.

Troi: I see. And now? What has caused you to come in now?

Crusher: I, uh, I don't really know how to start. I mean, how do people usually start? I hate sounding needy or anything. Sorry, I'm really nervous right now. _(laughs)_

Troi: That is a common reaction to receiving counseling. People usually think their problems are not that bad, or worse, not important enough to warrant help. Whatever is said in this room, I assure you, will be kept private. I promise you that, Beverly.

Crusher: I know, I'm bound under the same rules. I don't know, I just- I don't know how to explain it.

Troi: You're worried that I am going to judge you, or my perceptions of you will change after this secret is off your chest. I assure you that my feelings towards you won't be shrouded or jaded in any way. You've nothing to fear from that.

Crusher: I know. _(deep sigh)_. Alright. I- I'm sorry, I can't do this. Could I get a drink, or something?

Troi: Sure, I'll grab one, too. What can I get you?

Crusher: _(muttered under her breath)_ Whiskey would be fantastic.

Troi: Well, that isn't usually an acceptable counseling technique…

Crusher: _(laughs)_ I didn't mean for you to hear that! Uh, a black tea would be lovely, thank you.

Troi: Of course.

Crusher: Earl Grey? Deanna, really? You thought that would help right now?

Troi: I'm sorry, I didn't even think. Would you like something else?

Crusher: No, this is fine. Sorry, I guess I did ask for a black tea. I'll just get some milk and sugar, one sec.

Troi: Whoops, I should have asked. I'm just so used-

Crusher: I know, 'Tea, Earl Grey, hot.' Believe me, if I had ordered this tea, I'd have a hard time ordering it any other way.

Troi: _(laughs)_ you do a surprisingly good impression of the Captain! I'm certain he'd appreciate that!

Crusher: Oh, I'm not so sure…but he'd have just the cutest look on his face! _(laughs)_

Troi: _(laughs)_

Crusher: So, I guess down to business, then, huh?

Troi: If you're ready, Beverly. You don't need to rush this. After all, you just went through what must have been hell.

Crusher: I went through hell? No, Jean-Luc did. You saw him after I cleaned him up. Deanna, I couldn't even recognize him.

Troi: Weeks behind enemy lines will do that, Beverly. What is important-

Crusher: I couldn't even recognize him! All the dirt and burns, his head was so black, Deanna, it was so black. His skin was falling off, he hadn't eaten. And his leg was gone.

Troi: I know, it must have been hard, Beverly, but-

Crusher: But what? No buts, it was the most awful thing I have seen in my life. I thank whoever plans these things that I didn't have to see Jack like that. Jean-Luc brought him home, did you know that? He brought Wesley's father home in a body bag. What must Jack have looked like after he died? I'm a doctor, I've seen people in all states. But this sight of Jean-Luc like that…I couldn't deal with it. It was awful.

Troi: That isn't surprising. It is a common reaction to a loved one being hurt.

Crusher: I've seen him hurt before. After that incident with the Lenarians, he was dead on my operating table for a minute or two. I didn't lose it then.

Troi: Your feelings for him weren't as strong then. Over the years you've served together, I've begun to notice certain changes in your attitudes. You're feelings have grown, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest, to be honest.

Crusher: Changes? In what way?

Troi: Oh, come on, Beverly. You blush every time he enters the room. And, I might say, your thoughts are not always the purest regarding him. Remember, a few years back, at the wedding? When the Captain was giving his toast, I could practically hear your thoughts! I'm not even telepathic!

Crusher: _(blushes and laughs uncomfortably)_ I didn't know I projected that much. To be honest, I was really hoping no one really knew.

Troi: _(laughs loudly)_ no one knew? You've got to be kidding me. The lottery on when you two are finally going to get together is one of the largest in the known galaxy. Hell, I'd be willing to bet there is a Tal Shiar cell dedicated solely to figuring out that answer and making sure the Praetor wins. It's that big.

Crusher: _(buries her face in her hands)_ oh, my god. Tell me your joking. Please, tell me your joking about that. Oh, god, oh, god. Jean-Luc will not be happy…

Troi: Beverly, I'm serious. You two have been projecting the aura of relationship for well over a decade now. I happen to know of at least half a dozen women who have been scared off the Captain because of you, and at least that many men frightened half to death that the Captain will throw them out an airlock if they even try it. Neither of you are terribly subtle about the whole thing. Believe me.

Crusher: He feels the same way.

Troi: _(groans)_ give me a break, Beverly. Haven't you noticed that he smiled whenever you walk in the room? Or that his neck turns a rather lovely shade of pink? You can't be that thick about it.

Crusher: I guess- I guess after Kessprytt I figured he had moved on. Anij, Candice, Joralla. He had plenty of companionship.

Troi: Probably less than you might have though. So far as I know, he never slept with any of those three.

Crusher: How could you possibly know?

Troi: He comes to me for counseling as well, Doctor Crusher. And don't ask me about it, you know as well as I do that I can't tell you anything.

Crusher: Yeah, I know. I'd pay anything to get my hands on those transcripts, though. _(laughs)_

Troi: Why don't you just ask him? I have no doubt that, after what happened a few days back in sickbay, he'd be more than willing to talk.

Crusher: I- I can't. Deanna, I really can't be alone with him.

Troi: Why not? You can't still be scared of commitment. I mean, you've loved him for most of your adult life, what is there to be-

Crusher: I'm afraid that if I'm alone with him, I may try and kill him. I'm not being cute, or dramatic. And I don't mean kill in the way that a brother says to a sister or a wife to a husband. I mean kill him.

Troi: _(sharp inhalation)_ Beverly? What do you mean?

Crusher: I mean that I have, at least twice, had vivid nightmares about killing the Captain, only it isn't really me. In the first one, shortly after we brought him back to the ship, I dozed off in the sickbay after a few hours of surgery. In it, I was killed in my bed by something or someone that looked like me, only it wasn't exactly me. I can't really describe what was different, but I know that I have the distinct impression it wasn't me. After that, I was able to watch as sort of a disembodied spirit, and the- I don't know, bizzaro me when and killed the Captain, who was sleeping in a different bed. She bit his neck, and then throttled him.

Troi: Beverly, you were under a lot of stress, it isn't uncommon to have disturbing or strange dreams after such a harrowing experience-

Crusher: Deanna, after I awoke, my hand went to his throat, and I felt just a powerful urge to just clamp down. I stopped myself, but later that day, I had another dream, and this time it was me. I cut him, and then licked the blood.

Troi: Doctor Crecy believes that you may be suffering from PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It manifests itself in many different ways, and this could simply be a facet of that manifestation.

Crusher: But why is it taking itself out on Jean-Luc?

Troi: Well, in a way, the Captain is the cause of the stress for you. Your feelings for him lead you down this path, and it was his injuries and hurts that caused most of that stress. It would not be unusual for you to focus on him as the source of your problems.

Crusher: That isn't very fair to him.

Troi: No, but your brain isn't trying to think of what is best for him, it is trying to protect you. It needed to rationalize why it was going through all of this pain, and the blame was placed on the Captain. You will need, in some way, to release that anger. You'll need to vent it from your system.

Crusher: How? I can't exactly just go in there and beat him up.

Troi: Why not?

Crusher: _(laughs) _and I thought I was the crazy one! Talk sense, Deanna. I'm not going to go in there and beat him for my problems to go away.

Troi: No, I actually think it is. You're proficient in the _mok'bara_. Go to the holodeck and beat him down. Do it on a hologram Captain.

Crusher: You're serious?

Troi: Yup. _(laughs)_

Crusher: And this will get whatever this is out of my system?

Troi: Maybe. All I know is that PTSD gets worse as time passes.

Crusher: _(exhales loudly)_ yeah, alright. What could go wrong?

_ At this point, the recording ends. The subject rises to leave, and pleasantries are exchanged._

_ Transcript and recordings of this dialogue are encrypted files, NV-787-SV Reproduction of these contents are a violation of the Federation Medical Charter of 2212._

Beverly made her way to the _Titan's_ holodeck, sure that this was going to simply be one of the dumbest things she had ever gone through.

"Computer, produce a sparring ring, ten meters in diameter. Produce a representation of Captain Jean-Luc Picard as an opponent. _Mok'bara_, level four. And computer, play _JavI'noJkal_ from Gorassh's _HiL'OpT._"

"Program complete, enter when ready."

Beverly took a big breath, and said "open."

In the centre of the ring, she saw Captain Picard, or what the computer thought Captain Picard looked like, standing stock straight in a white robe, the booming orchestral piece from her favorite Klingon opera set her in the right mood for what she was about to do.

"Not bad." Beverly smiled shyly to herself.

"Computer, begin simulation."

The holo-Picard rushed at her in a classic Klingon attack, seeking to strike her on the collarbone, but Beverly was ready, and countered, sliding her hand inside his arm, and wrenching. The hologram quickly changed tactics, attacking her lower body, attempting to throw off her defense, but a decade of training under Worf had prepared her for that move. _This is too easy._

"Computer, increase to level five."

After ten minutes, Beverly was really beginning to enjoy herself. It had been a long time since her last true lesson, but she was shocked at how easy it was to fall back into the familiar routines. But even she needed a break sometimes.

"Computer, pause program. Produce a towel rack at the far end of the room."

The chirps of the computer told her that her order had been carried out, and she turned away to use the towel. She didn't hear the holodeck doors open, or the almost whispered command given in a low baritone voice.

"Computer, remove holographic opponent, replace my garments with a martial arts robe, and engage the holodeck safeties. Any stylistic changes made by Doctor Crusher are to affect me." He quickly moved to the position that his hologram had recently occupied.

Beverly turned back, throwing the towel down.

"Computer, increase to level six."

Beverly seemed to be waiting for the attack, so Picard came forward. Only, instead of using a classic attack, he improvised. Throwing his arm out in front of him, he also swept low with his right leg, catching it on the inside of Beverly's calf, almost causing her to lose balance. He heard her swear foully, and then catch herself before she tumbled, her legs fluidly moving to shore up her balance. She attacked savagely, sweeping her hand towards his face. _A pretty damaging move,_ Picard thought,_ she thinks this is still the hologram_. He blocked her arm, and forcefully pushed back, nearly knocking her off balance again, and only by throwing her left arm to the ground was she able to stop herself. Rolling to the side to avoid Picard's knee that had begun to come crashing down, she swung around with her legs, catching him in a hold around his waist.

_Oh, she's going to find out I'm no hologram if I don't get out of this one._ Falling to his side, he attempted to roll Beverly on to her back, forcing her to choose between being on the bottom of a grapple or letting go with her legs. She choose the latter, and managed to get out of arms reach before Picard had a chance to initiate a hold of his own.

_ Damn. Level six is a step up from five._ Beverly was impressed by the improvisation shown by the hologram at this level. The first attack had nearly taken her out for a while, and it was only through the dancer's muscles in her legs that she was able to avoid both the initial attack, and the rather savage knee that had come shortly after. _What is that? That smell is familiar-_ But at that moment, another hand came out and nearly caught her face in a well aimed _Kit'jAl_ strike, and she just managed to grab the attacking wrist before it contacted the side of her jaw. _That is definitely above level six_. _And sparring holograms are definitely not supposed to have a pulse. Jean-Luc, I think I'm going to have a bit of fun with you._ _Deanna, you are a genius._

Leaping away from her opponent, she yelled, at the top of her lungs, "Computer, freeze program."

Having to act fast, Picard was very glad that he was in a standing position. Doctor Crecy had said take it easy on the activity, but the Captain was feeling hale and hearty. Though, he certainly felt weaker than he had been, he had taken well to the new leg that was attached to his left thigh. He stopped as quickly as possible, and remained as straight as possible. He had nerve. He knew he had nerves, the same nerves that helped him on Celtris III, the same nerve that helped in on Gyras IV, the same nerve that helped him manage 'sleep' during the first Borg incident. But those nerves were nearly insufficient to stop him from looking when Beverly Crusher removed her robe, and was only clothed in her underwear. _What the devil is she doing?_

"Computer," Beverly's voice sounded lighter, "resume program."

_Mon dieu. I can't spar when she's like this. _The music was booming in his ears, and his head was swimming.

But, he had to, and he tried. Attacking viciously, he intended on striking her midsection, but stopped short slightly, his eyes not on his target, but rather on her chest, which was glowing with the sweat and heat of the workout. He knew he was sweating, and he hoped she didn't notice. _I'm such an idiot. Holograms don't sweat. Wow, Jean-Luc, you're a real smart guy. _The miss cost him his initiative, and she took it brutally. Striking to his legs, she forced him back until he was forced to execute a tumble to stop himself from leaving the ring. She pursued, and caught his legs in a hold with hers. Flipping him onto his back, she straddled his waist, her legs keeping him in place. It took _everything_ he had to escape, and it was with brute strength rather than finesse, and he returned to a standing position, trying his hardest to keep his breathing even. Beverly rose, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Freeze program. Alright, computer, let's make this more interesting. Make holographic model anatomically correct, remove robe, and increase to level _eight_. Increase volume of music by 15%."

_Is this what she does for fun?_ The robes around him disappeared, and he was naked in front of her. Picard struggled not to show his blush, a mixture of jealousy and modesty. _Merde. I said 'replace' my garments, not 'cover'. _

"Computer," _dear god, don't say it, Beverly,_ "resume program."

Beverly came at him quickly, striking at his arms, causing him to fight a retreat until he could gain his composure. A counterattack failed, and she struck him on the chest, knocking the air from his lungs. Another strike laid him on the ground. He knew that if the safeties hadn't been engaged, he'd be enjoying a few bruised or broken ribs, and instead of attempting the charade any longer, he simply lay there, his chest heaving.

"My, Jean-Luc! What are you doing here!?" She tried to fill her voice with indignation.

"I," he caught his breath, "I figured it would be better for you to let off your steam on the real thing. You, uh, sure have a lot of steam. I didn't know you liked to spar, uh, in less than regulation uniform." He was trying to hide his interest at her choice of garments for their final spars.

"Oh, Jean-Luc," she couldn't contain her laughter any longer, and she slumped to the ground in a fit of it, "I knew it was you for the past five or ten minutes. I was wondering when you'd let on that you were actually you. Your coolness under _fire_ is admirable, Captain. And I must say," she surveyed him from the corner of her eye, "if I had know how much fun this was, I would have had the computer do this years ago."

Picard made a huffing noise and said, "Doctor, would you care to have dinner with me tonight?"

Crusher moved towards the Captain, and laid her hand on his neck. Other than feeling his breath course in and out of his throat, and the blood pumping through his vessels, nothing happened. The naked body beneath her no longer felt like a target, and relief coursed through her like a river.

"Jean-Luc," she purred, "I think I'd love to."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

_Three hours after Will left sickbay._

"Deanna, can you come to my ready room, please?" Riker sat behind his desk, his head in his hands.

Deanna acknowledged, and moved towards the closest turbolift.

_What is it, Imzadi?_

Riker responded, _I'd rather discuss that in person._

She could feel his pain and confusion from half the ship away, and quickened her pace.

Making it on to the bridge, she crossed the command deck, before taking a deep breath. Depressing the chime, she waited until she heard the assent to enter. Her captain, her lover, and her husband was sitting behind his desk, obviously distressed, the red rims of his eyes a testament to what he must be going through.

_What is it? What happened?_ Deanna had a quick bolt of fear rush through her as to the condition of her friends in sickbay.

_No, it isn't that. They're fine, or were when last I checked. She should be up in an hour or two, and he'll be another day before ambulation is allowed, but..._

_But it still hurts to see them this way? I know how you feel._

_No, I don't really think you do, Deanna. I don't know how to describe what it is, but it isn't being afraid, or being reminded of my own mortality, it's something deeper. Whenever I go to Captain's Conferences, people I don't even know personally, names that I look up to, ask me about my time as Jean-Luc's First Officer. Admirals are jealous when I tell them stories about him, about what we all did together. Deanna, if Jean-Luc had died, Starfleet would have mourned him, lost a father themselves because he died. He needs to stop. His life isn't his own, not anymore. We're in a war, and morale is everything. If Picard dies, morale will drop, hugely._

_Will, you're angry with him, that is understandable, but-_

_No! Don't tell me that it is an 'understandable reaction' or anything like that. I know it isn't, Deanna. The man is able to make his own decisions. He knows what he needs to do, and he knows his duty. I just-_

_You wish you could be there. You wish you could've been there with him, on Gyras IV?_

_No. I wish I could have been there instead of him._

Deanna closed her eyes, and when they opened, they flashed with fire._ Will, you aren't exactly your own man anymore, either. You've got a crew that adores you, and a wife that loves you. If you had been hurt, or, Rings forbid, killed, how do you think I'd feel? Hell, how do you think Captain Picard would feel? You think of him as a father, and yet you had one. He thinks of you as a son, Will, and right now, you're his only son. What if he had gone off on the same adventure as Beverly did and died during that? No, it isn't right to dwell on 'might-have-beens' or 'what-ifs'. He's safe, Beverly is safe, they are on board _your_ ship, and now you can protect them, at least until they return to the _Enterprise_. Take what you can get, Will. Please. You have people who love you, too._

Will sat silently for a few minutes. "Yeah, you're right, but, hell, I just wish, one time, that I'd be right. On anything, really."

Deanna smiled, "Will, if that happened, you'd know I wasn't your wife."

He looked her in the eyes, "but I'm still damned scared, Deanna."

She reached out and squeezed his hand, "me, too."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Deanna paced in her quarters, worried about her friends. She hadn't heard from either Captain Picard or Doctor Crusher for quite some time. Picard, she knew, was in sickbay, and Beverly was on the holodeck.

_I assumed that Beverly would comm me and tell me how stupid an idea that was._

"Computer, what is the location of Doctor Crusher?"

"Doctor Crusher is in her quarters."

Deanna marched out of her room, and made quick time to the quarters of her friend. Chiming the door, she waited until she heard the light voice from inside beckoning her in.

"Deanna! What can I do for you?" Beverly was flitting around the room, getting ready for what looked like a date.

"Well, I, uh, to be honest was coming by to see how you were doing. I didn't know if what I suggested would help at all or-"

Beverly came to her friend, and gave her huge, white smile. "Deanna, it worked perfectly! Of course, some help was had, but I'm not complaining!"

"Yes, it does seem to have worked – a little too perfectly, Beverly. It wasn't supposed to be an immediate solution, but rather a start. I can still feel a dark place in your psyche. Going to dinner with Captain Picard might not be the best idea."

Beverly stopped dancing around, and glared at Deanna. "I'm not even going to wonder how you knew that was what I was doing. Alright, then. Let's sit down. I've still got an hour before I need to meet with him. If, at the end of that time, you still don't think it's a good idea, I'll change our plans. Deal?"

Deanna sighed. "I'm not telling you that you cannot go, I'm just saying that it might not be the best plan to rush these things. This morning you were telling me that part of you wanted to kill him. Now you're going to dinner with him – it shouldn't be this easy, Beverly."

Beverly sat down, pouting. "Fine, let's talk then. Beating up on him did me a world of good. To be honest, I think beating up on anything would have been a good thing, I just really needed to let off this energy. Jean-Luc was a good-" Beverly stopped and blushed a deep red.

Deanna looked sharply at her. "What? What was that? I felt something, something-"

"I, uh, said that I really needed to let off-"

"BEVERLY! You know what I meant!" Deanna's face was a mix of concern and intense curiosity.

"Uh, Jean-Luc came in and took the place of the hologram. I didn't even realize for a little bit, but once I did, it just seemed so natural to continue sparring. We _both_ had fun, I think, and it was probably good for him to stretch a little. Being cooped up in sickbay for days must have been hell for him."

"Beverly, if I review the logs from the holo-"

"I wouldn't, if I were you." Beverly blushed.

"You didn't, did you? Beverly, you didn't sle-"

"Who do you think I am, a hormonal teenager-?"

"Well, judging by the intense emotions going through you, and the blush on your face, I'd have to say yeah."

Beverly threw a pillow at her, and laughed. "What ever you might be feeling from me, he was a complete gentleman."

"And were you a complete lady."

"Only one person has to be proper to ruin the fun." Beverly gave a mock scowl, eliciting an exasperated looked from her friend, who opened her mouth to admonish the Doctor. Beverly cut her off by answering the unasked question, her tone betraying the uncertainty and confusion she felt.

"I don't know if I'm all better or whatever. Hell, I don't even know what's wrong with me. It wasn't two weeks ago that I seriously considered putting a phaser in my mouth, and now here I am, giddy as a school girl, and wondering what dress is going to make his eyes pop out of his head and fall to the floor. Deanna, I don't know what's up, and I'm pretty damned sure that going to dinner with him tonight isn't the best idea I've ever had, but I can tell you that it is something I want more than anything in the galaxy right now." Emotion was welling up in her, and she could feel her hands tremble, a sure sign of tears. She blinked rapidly to stop them, and smiled at Deanna, who still looked apprehensive, but smile back.

"I know, I can feel that. I know that you and he look to each other for far more than professional comfort. I just want you to be careful tonight. Both of you have had a rough time for the past little while, and there is nothing wrong with taking things slowly."

Beverly stuck out her bottom lip, and twirled an errant strand of hair with her index and middle finger. "Yeah, there is something wrong with taking things slowly, but I know Jean-Luc will side with you on that."

Deanna's face broke into a wide smile. "I promise you, Beverly, you'll find the wait well worth it, as will he. Why don't you two have dinner with Will and I tonight? Captain's mess, 2000 hours?"

Beverly looked at Deanna, seeing if there was any ulterior motive, and, deciding to give her manipulative friend the benefit of the doubt this time, tapped her combadge.

"Jean-Luc? For dinner tonight, we've been invited to the Captain's mess, if you'd like to go. Deanna just stopped by to ask." Beverly gave a pointed look to the half Betazoid, who grinned.

"In fact, I got a similar invitation from Will not five minutes ago. It was for 2000 hours, but Will asked me to come by a little earlier for drinks. I shall pick you up at 1930. Acceptable?"

Beverly smiled at the semi-formal tone Jean-Luc always held when talking through a communicator or combadge. "Yes, Captain, that would be acceptable. Please tell me what you shall be wearing, so I shall be able to match. From what I know, it will be a very formal affair." Beverly gave a mischievous looked at Deanna, whose face was lit with excitement. The Doctor knew her friend loved fashion, and Beverly hadn't had an occasion to dress up for a long time.

"Uh, in that case, I shall have to ask for your suggestion. Apart from my dress uniform, I haven't dressed for a formal occasion since I was a young boy. If you send over information on what would be best, I'll dress in that."

"Will do, Jean-Luc. See you tonight." Beverly's combadge switched off, and she laughed gaily with Deanna, who said her goodbyes, and went to go plan her and Will's garments.

Beverly whisked herself to the computer, and brought up fashion plans. After going through for fifteen minutes, she settled on what she wanted. _Let's see Deanna top this one._

After Picard received the plans of what he was to wear that evening, and the strict orders to wear it traditionally, he sat for a while, thinking. It was definitely not a Starfleet Dress Uniform, but it certainly was appropriate. _White tie, indeed._

Knowing that Beverly would be matching made his heart pound in his chest as an image of her in her garb flashed into his mind. _And that is _definitely_ not a Starfleet Dress Uniform. _

Leaving his room and moving to the cargo bay replicator, he conjured up what he was to be wearing, the computer making the outfit to his exact build. Wrapping the clothes in a bag, he made his way back to his room. _This is going to take an hour to put on. Fortunate that dinner was moved back to 2000 hours._

Entering his shower, he opted for water rather than the quicker sonic shower. He had time, and the hot water coursing down his body relieved his muscles from the extensive workout from earlier, as well as dulled the ache of his new leg. Under the water for what he assumed had been ten minutes, he got out, and regarded himself nakedly in the mirror.

No one could identify him as heavily muscled, especially not after what he had gone though, but he knew that many regarded him as a well built man. He was not especially tall or broad, but he made up for that with wiry muscle, taut under skin that fit him perfectly. His chest was thinly veiled in pale hairs, but the rest of his body, _including my head,_ was free from it. His left leg seemed oddly muscled, but that was due to the artificial nature of the limb, being a very good replica, but not a biological one. The ability to replicate whole limbs had not advanced sufficiently for it to apply to humans, which was a source of some shame for him. He often regarded his legs as his most physically appealing traits, and he had been an avid runner in his youth. He knew that the new leg he had was far superior to a biological one in terms of strength and endurance, but, like the metal heart beating behind his rib cage, he would gladly trade it for the original.

After striking some poses in the mirror for posterity, Picard made his way to his bedroom, where the outfit was waiting for him. _I wonder how it is worn without hurting?_ Knowing the culture who affect such garb on formal occasions, the pain was probably a selling point rather than a problem.

_The metal is going to be damned cold on the skin. Why didn't the ancient Klingons wear undergarments?_

Beverly rose from her bath, and padded across the warm floor of her bathroom. Wrapping towels around herself, she stood in front of the mirror. She was sixty, but her activity and the technology available to her made her easily pass for a forty year old, possible a little younger. Unwrapping the towels that surrounded her body, she critiqued her body with a cold eye. _You've put on a little weight since your twenties, Bev._ She knew that she was in excellent shape, but every line, every part of her that didn't fit her Grecian aesthetic slightly offended her. She was, she supposed, fortunate that most of the weight had been gained was not particularly noticeable, and she was comparatively free of the rounded waists of so many of her ancestors. Her skin was still taught over her frame, with nary a sag anywhere, the product of her active lifestyle as well as what she was able to do as a Doctor in Starfleet. _No one expected me not to take the extra perks of the job, did they? Katherine never did, I guess. _She looked to her hair, the fiery curls wild about her head. _Wow, Bev. For the first time – ever – this is exactly how your hair needs to be for the outfit. _Crossing to her bedroom, she began to lay out the costume, which was quite heavy, but not bulky. All the metal in it jingled as it was moved, and she was surprised by the simplicity of donning it. After ten minutes, she was ready to look at herself in the mirror, and she was quite pleased with her look. The silver and black of the outfit served to highlight both her pale décolletage as well as the red waterfall of hair which flowed about her shoulders. Strapping the ceremonial blade to her side, she gave herself a turn in front of the mirror. _Well, everything is where it is supposed to be. A bit of a drink won't hurt._

At precisely the same moment Beverly had pronounced herself fit to be seen, Picard was wrestling with the ties and straps of his own garment, vainly attempting to place the heavy material and metal in the right positions before moving on to the next fastener. He remembered why he didn't like formal gathers such as this one – even between friends. Clothes were meant to protect the body, not pinch it, bludgeon it, and a dozen other unhappy and painful verbs that were being applied to Picard's body at that moment.

By the time everything was in order, he was in danger of running late picking up Beverly for the evening, and punctuality was one of the things that he prided himself upon. Strapping his _mek'leth_ to the side of his body, and the _d'k tahg_ with his own family crest affixed to it to his other hip, a gift from Chancellor Martok for his services during the Dominion war, he left the quarters assigned to him, and made his way down the hallway. A few strange glances from junior officers brought a smile to his lips. _The old man has finally gone crazy. Spread the word!_

"Come in!" Beverly responded to the chime at the door. They parted, and her breath caught in her throat. _My, god. Jean-Luc, you look worthy of a fantasy or two. Or three._ The body of her Captain was clad in the black and silver of the ancient Klingon nobility, and it set off his features perfectly. The computer had done a good job of measuring for the outfit, and it tugged and tightened in all the placed Beverly could appreciate on his body. His _d'k tagh_ strapped to his right hip, and the _mek'leth_ on his left set off his features nicely, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from calling Deanna and telling her friends that Jean-Luc and her would be an hour or so late.

"Beverly, that looks good on you." _Understatement of the decade, Jean-Luc. Tell her how she really looks._ "I, uh, mean to say that you look great." Picard blushed like a fool, to match the fool he felt he was making of himself.

"You do, too, Jean-Luc. I must say, that outfit flatters all of your best features." Beverly smiled her smile, and he melted a little on the inside. _She could always do that, and it really isn't fair._

"Well, we'd better be off if we are not to be late for the Captain's invitation."

"Indeed, my lord. qIj ram nobmey jIH tlhab le' maH ghoSmey nargh ghol'eb jaj!"

Picard stared at her in amazement. "Beverly, my Klingon is a little rusty...?"

"I said 'black night gives special freedom to us, escaping the oppression of day.'" Her eyes held his for a little longer than was necessary to convey the meaning of the words.

He took her arm in his, and they made their way out into the corridors. Those passing them gawked or stared as long as they felt able to do at these two senior officers, resplendent in clothing of classical Qo'noS. Picard felt a great sense of pride walking arm in arm with a woman as beautiful as Beverly, and the stiff material of his garb made him stand as straight as he was able, giving him the impression of being quite imperial in bearing, an interesting and fun sensation.

Upon reaching the door to the Captain's mess, Beverly turned to Jean-Luc.

"I'm sorry we couldn't have dinner alone tonight. I, uh, I haven't been entirely honest with you about all of this."

He smiled tightly, and said "whatever it is, Beverly, I understand. I know that we've been friends for a long time, and it'd be a shame-"

"What? Oh, gods no. No, it isn't that, believe me. It, uh, well – how about I tell you after dinner? You can come for a night cap if you wish after we leave. I'd like that."

"Then it's a date, and you can tell me everything your heart wishes."

_That might take some time, Captain. Maybe we'll just have the important stuff._

"Come!" Will's pleasant tone boomed from inside. The portal opened, and Captain Picard and Beverly Crusher saw two people, their dear friends, dressed in what looked like 19th Century European garb, sober and black. Beverly smiled, _I think we got them_. Will and Deanna stared at amazement at their guests, and Will burst out laughing first. Looking away to attempt to gain control of himself, he looked back at Picard, and burst out laughing again. Deanna was more successful in hiding her enjoyment of the scene, but a wide smile spread across her face.

Will was able to sputter, "You both look incredible!"

He quickly went to the replicator and ordered a jug of non-synthehol bloodwine and four glasses.

"This occasion merits nothing less!" He looked back at the pair of them, and burst out laughing again, until tears flowed down his cheeks.

Deanna went up to Beverly, and carefully gave her a big hug, mindful of the spikes and metal that the Klingons viewed as decorative. Stopping in front of the Captain, she wore a curious smile. _I have no idea what to do. I want to hug him, but he's Captain Picard..._ She decided that, since he wasn't a Captain right now, she'd go for it. Slipping her arms around him, she hugged him fiercely, not realizing that, when she was telling Will about his father/son relationship with Picard, she had mirrored those feelings. All at once, the bitter memory of losing him, and the joy of finding him again came rushing through her, and tears stung her eyes.

"Captain, you're back. I was- You don't know how much I wanted to go with Beverly." she straightened, and smiled as she wiped her face from the tears, "But you're back now, and that's what matters, I guess."

Will went to Beverly, "You look absolutely amazing, Beverly. Who knew that Klingon fashion was your area?" He dramatically widened his eyes as he gawked at the deep cleavage being emphasized by the outfit, and she slapped him playfully on the arm. He moved to hug her, and when his mouth was close to her ear, he said quietly, "thank you. Thank you for coming home, and bringing him with you."

She was shocked that his eyes were wet when they pulled away. She squeezed him comfortingly on the arm. Will moved to Picard next, and shook him firmly on the hand, emotions controlled, but the happiness and joy at seeing Picard up shone brightly in his eyes.

"It's good to have you back, Captain."

"Captain? Will, we're the same rank now, it's Jean-Luc to you. And tell your very pretty wife that she has that same honour." Picard turned to Deanna, "Deanna, I still outrank you, so here is my order. Call me Jean-Luc, or I'll have you court martialed!"

Deanna giggled, "Of course, si-, uh, Jean-Luc."

Goblets of bloodwine were passed around, and toasts were drunk to, it seemed, everyone possible in the galaxy. They laughed for a half an hour before Will remembered the purpose of the night.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I have, tonight, prepared a special dinner for the four of us. We've been together for over twenty years, and in all that time, I have never met a more brilliant or beautiful Doctor, nor a more incredible or skilled Captain. Tonight, I have prepared selections of Scottish and French cuisine for our enjoyment, in their honour. I also have brought out the last four bottles of Chateau Picard I have, and a damned old bottle of Laphroaig, which I happen to know is Beverly's favourite. We are due to meet up with the _Enterprise_ tomorrow at 1100, and nothing is scheduled between then and now. Let's drink and eat!"

With that, the three others laughed their consent, and the evening turned to the finer things in life. Picard sat wistfully across from Beverly, revelling in both her beauty, and the comforts of civilisation which he had missed so desperately only days before. It was surreal to him that he should go from that miserable existence to this eminently pleasant one in so short a time. The wine and scotch was flowing around the table, and both hearts and voices became raised, the sound of laughter peeled through the corridor. The food was excellent, and the conversation touched on subjects of all type – Starship Operations, gossip, anecdotes, and all things under the sun.

Finally, at around 0100 in the morning, Picard and Crusher rose and said their goodbyes. Will Riker and Deanna Troi walked them to the closest turbolift, and their laughter only began to die away a few minutes after the closing of the lift's doors.

"I think that was a hell of a night. I'm glad we did this!" Will laughed as they entered their room once more, arm in arm, Deanna's hands caressing the small of Riker's back.

"I've got a bit of a confession to make, Will..." Deanna's cheeks were rosy red from the alcohol she had drunk, and she sat Riker down on the sofa.

"Oh? And what confession might that be, Counsellor?"

"I set this night up to watch Captain Picard and Beverly together...she's been having, I guess, problems lately, and I wanted to see how they were together."

Will's face grew more serious. "Deanna, I know that you can't talk to me about your counsel-"

"No, I know, Will, and I wasn't. I just wanted your observations." Deanna's hands moved down his chest onto his hips, and he shuddered from the touch.

"Well, I guess I'd have to say that she is blissfully happy that he's back, and he definitely seems to feel the same. I don't know, seeing them here tonight made me think that we might not be far off from hearing wedding bells."

"No, Will. There was something, something that Beverly was scared of. I couldn't quite tell what it was, but it's near the surface." Deanna's hand started to kneed the flesh under the pants, making Will squirm.

"Well, whatever it is, she's a grown woman, and he's a grown man, they should be able to figure things out on their own."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Jean-Luc? Come in for a nightcap."

Jean-Luc's head was a little fuzzy from the alcohol that he had imbibed, but he remembered that she had something to tell him. "Alright, Beverly. A quick one."

Picard stepped through the door into her quarters, and immediately regretted it. With the current alcohol levels in both of them, he was in danger of losing himself. He sat himself in a single chair, hoping that the lack of alternate space on it would cause Beverly to sit opposite of him. The jingle of her clothing made him painfully aware of just how attractive she was.

"So, Jean-Luc, I guess I own you an explanation for – everything."

Picard nodded, not knowing whether or not to be frightened or relieved that he didn't have to bring it up. He sat, motionless, waiting for the breaking of revelation.

"Well, I, uh, guess I should start a couple weeks back. We were set to rendezvous with the _Admonisher_, and I hadn't seen you for so long. I guess that for two months I just thought of you, and then – then the _Admonisher_ blew up, and I don't know, I guess I lost it, went to my room, and-"

Beverly had tears in her eyes at this point. _Man, drinking was a terrible idea. I didn't want this conversation to be an overly emotional one._ Jean-Luc didn't move, didn't get up to sit beside her. He knew that she wanted some separation for this. _Thank you, love._

She continued, "I just lost it, and I destroyed my room, and that picture, when we were back on Earth, it was smashed." she paused for another moment, gathering her thoughts, and taking in shuddering breaths. "And I nearly-" She couldn't. She couldn't tell him that. He would hate her, he would leave, and he wouldn't want to see her any more, wouldn't want to talk to her any more, _wouldn't want her any more._

"Beverly, whatever it is, I promise I'll give it a fair shake."

"Jean-Luc, promise me that, whatever you're feeling, even if it makes you want to run for the door, you'll stay until I'm done? I need to tell you what happened, and I need to tell you all of it. If, after you hear it, you hate me – I'll understand. Promise me, ok? Please, promise me."

Jean-Luc nodded, more scared than he could remember. _Wow, that is happening a lot these days. Scary times, Jean-Luc. Scary times._

"Alright," Beverly got control of her feelings again, and plunged into the matter.

"When I saw that you had died on _Admonisher_, I went to my room, and I just, I don't know, it occurred to me that I didn't want this any more if you weren't in it, and-"

_No, don't say it, Beverly. Please. Don't say it._ Picard's knuckles were white, gripped on the side of the chair. His body was immobile, listening to the woman he loved.

"and I just had this urge to free myself. The phaser was in my hand, and I just couldn't seem to let it go. It was only by thinking of Wesley and Deanna and Will, and _you_ that I didn't. I don't know how long I sat there, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it, and I couldn't bring myself to put the phaser down." Her voice was devoid of emotion now. She was mechanically reciting what had happened.

Picard's lip was trembling with his effort not to move. His fingers hurt they were clenched so tightly.

"When I calmed down, Data told me that you were probably not on _Admonisher_, and I knew then that I needed to go find you. And I did. I stole the Captain's Yacht from the _Titan_, and I went. A couple of ensigns went with me, and we found you, and brought you back."

Without feeling, Beverly continued.

"When we were on the yacht, after you were stable, I started having these dreams, and they," She drew a large breath, fighting for control of what she was feeling, "they were of me killing you. In personal ways, biting, and throttling. And then, when I went to check on you, I just had this – this urge to, to choke you." Beverly blushed. "And to taste your blood."

Picard's eyes were wide. _I don't really understand._

"After that, I went to Deanna. She told me that I should try the holodeck thing. She said I might be blaming you for my pain, for my regrets. I was there for a little while before you showed up...I don't normally do that! And I wouldn't have told the computer to do all of those things if it had been a hologram. I knew it was you for a bit, but-"

She continued on, telling him that she wasn't in the habit of recreating people she knew on the holodeck. He wasn't listening. _What should I make of all of this?_

Beverly finished, and looked expectantly at Picard, who sat there, immobile, mute.

Emotion played across her face as she waited for what she was sure would be the end of her happiness. The seconds turned into aeons as she waited, her right hand running through her hair.

Picard slowly shook his head. "And now? Do you have those urges any more?"

Beverly looked at him, "I didn't on the holodeck, and I don't think I do now. But what if they come back?"

Picard sat, silent for another moment. "And your blame? For me? Do you still carry it?"

"No, I don't- maybe. Maybe a little." she sighed, "maybe a lot. Jean-Luc, do you have any idea what you mean to me? Do you? Do you have any idea what lengths I would go to to save you, to bring you back?" Her hands worked in themselves, and tears once again threatened to spill down her face. "I killed for you. I shot two M'loi who were stopping me from treating you. I'd have killed a planet full of them to get you on to that ship, in an instant, and that is pretty fucking frightening." Beverly was standing now, and her voice was raised. Picard simply sat and listened, his eyes never leaving hers.

"And then? I get you on the ship, I save your life after a day and a half of solid surgery, and I nearly kill you? More than that, _I wanted to kill you!_ That voice in my head, those images, they nearly caused me to throttle you, and I had to get them out. Ifinally did, but it cost me a few days in the sickbay myself. All for you. _All because of you!_" Beverly was pacing around now, noticing that Jean-Luc had gotten out of his chair after a few moments,

"And now you're leaving? Am I too crazy for you, Captain?" Beverly's eyes flashed, daring him to make an affirmative noise. Instead, he walked over to her, and began to bring his arm up into a classic _mok'bara_ ready stance.

"Jean-Luc, what the hell are you doing?"

"Defend yourself." His hands came up, his fingers splayed, claw like.

_The _HoJI'KlsY_? That's – that's not a level six technique._ Beverly knew that, if executed correctly, the _HoJI'KlsY _style was a dangerous, and often lethal, combination of attacks and grapples, and that only a very practised individual could hope to make them work. _Jean-Luc? Where did you get that kind of training._ His eyes were quick, and his motions fluid.

When the strike came, Beverly only managed to have time to desperately block in time, the full force of his arms scythed through the air at the side of her neck.

"Jean-Luc! What are you doing?"

"_Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_" The Klingon phrase was spat out.

Again and again, his hands turned into vicious talons, clawing through the air. The fuzziness in her head added to the perceived speed of his strikes, making them seem like blurs of colour through the air. It was only through tumbling out of the way that she avoided the stroke.

"Jean-Luc, please stop!"

"DEFEND YOURSELF!" Jean-Luc roared, and attacked again.

Beverly's training took over, and she fought back. He was good, he was _very_ good. But she was better, and she was faster. Catching one of the splayed hands by the wrist, she flipped it behind his back, casing him to cry in pain. He twisted away, and drew his _mek'leth_. The steel sang through the air, but Beverly was already moving out of the way, and the blade bit deep into the couch. She swept low with her legs, and caught him on the back of his knee, dropping him to one leg, his artificial leg. She swung around on him, and dropped into the _uliC'laK_, the killing posture, preparing to drive the delicate bones of his upper nose into the base of his brain. And stopped.

"It seems to me, Beverly, that you could have killed me right then."

Beverly was panting, her eyes wild, and her breath erratic. She didn't say anything, frozen in the moment.

Picard gazed up into her eyes. "I trust you. I wish you had trusted me, that I wouldn't just leave you because I thought you had some baggage. I wish you had thought more of me then to think that I'd run from you at the first sign of difficulty. It won't be easy, but I'll help you through anything you need. Gladly, and without any feeling of obligation. I'm doing this because I feel for you, not because I'm your Captain, or a Starfleet Officer. I'd kill for you, too. I did kill for you, I have killed for you, and I will kill for you if are ever in danger."

Beverly's tears streamed down her face, and she slumped down, weeping into her hands. Feeling the arms that had so recently been brutal wrap around her tenderly.

"Jean-Luc, I-" but any further words were lost in the torrent of her emotion. He was content to sit with her, and when she finally faded off to sleep in his arms, he carried her to her bed, and turned out the light before leaving.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Picard had slept until late into the morning, his night filled with restless dreams and sleepless hours. The events of the night previous, mixed with the after effects of the alcohol, created within him a sense of unease and confusion. He didn't know where he stood with Beverly at this moment, and he was loathe to wake her and talk, certain that she was still sleeping.

Getting out of bed, he moved towards the sonic shower in his temporary quarters. Looking at the chrono on the wall, he noted that they would be alongside the _Enterprise_ in about half an hour, which should give him the necessary time to get everything together, and make his plans.

The shower worked wonders on his body, and he felt more refreshed than he had. Pulling on a new uniform that had been replicated for him, he set about attaching the gold rank pips to the side of his collar. _One, two, three, and four_. _I have spent my life in pursuit of these silly little things. I'll give them up before I see Beverly disgraced._ He had made his mind up during the night previous, after he had returned from her quarters, that he would accept whatever punishment was going to be meted out to his beloved Beverly.

"Captain Picard to the bridge." The voice of Will Riker came in clearly through the comm system, and Picard started off at once to the bridge of the _Titan_.

Those he passed in the halls looked at him with a mixture of awe and adoration, seeing this legendary captain of which they heard about growing up. Picard was acutely aware of their feelings towards him, and they made him feel uncomfortable. _Will they feel that way when I have been disgraced by court-martial?_ He hadn't done anything court-martial worthy, strictly speaking, but he was about to. Or at least say he did.

"Captain Picard, welcome to the bridge of the _Titan_. May I present my first officer, Commander Gaila Johannsen, my Second Officer and Operations Officer, Heta Ilarjog, my Tactical Officer and Chief of Security, Lieutenant Kalix Gaarl, and my primary helm officer, Ensign Rixxe."

The collection of officers gratefully took the hand offered, and shook it, voicing their appreciation of him being on their bridge. He shook their hands with a forced smile, reserving some words for each of them until Picard was able to turn to Will.

"How long until we reach the _Enterprise, _Will?"

"About fifteen minutes now, Captain."

Picard nodded, an waited for a moment. "Can I speak with you in your ready room?"

Riker looked at his former Captain, and shot a questioning glance, but nodded, and got up. "Of course, Captain."

Leading the way to the small ready room, Riker felt oddly uncomfortable being on this side of the table from Picard. "What can I do for you?"

"Will – I want you to tell the inquest that I left orders for a rescue mission to be mounted to come get me."

Riker's brow furrowed. _What the hell-?_ "Captain, you know full well that lying to a board of inquest is a court-martial offense, but-"

"Will, I need this. Beverly won't lose her career because of me-"

"_But_," Will carried on, "I understand where you're coming from. But, Jean-Luc, I don't think anyone is going to believe that you left orders that were so obviously dangerous to – her."

Picard shook his head. "I know. Which is why I'm going to falsify the subspace comm logs when I return to the _Enterprise_. They will make it appear as though I contacted Beverly shortly before the _Admonisher_ was destroyed. The Admirals won't know that I didn't have that capability while on Gyras IV, and it should at least clear Beverly of any responsibility for this whole thing. I'll pull some strings, and get you assigned to the _Enterprise_ as Captain, if you want her, Will."

Riker couldn't believe what he was hearing. _Decades of service to Starfleet, and he's going to throw it away?_ "Captain, please think about this before committing anything. I am not going to press charges for the yacht, and more likely than not, Beverly is going to simply get a slap on the wrist, and an official condemnation. Privately, they're probably going to want to give her a citation for bringing you back."

"Will, she drugged two security ensigns, ignored orders for her to go to Starbase 356, stole Starfleet property, landed on an officially proscribed planet, and probably half a dozen other contraventions of protocol. It'll be a lot more than a slap on the wrist – she'll be lucky if she's only busted down to ensign."

Will knew he was right, but it didn't seem just. Beverly was doing what dozens other high level officers would have done if they had heard about it first. Hell, there were probably half a dozen Admirals that would have dragged a fleet out of mothballs just to go after him. But none of them would have done it with half of the passion or will that Beverly had put into it. Ensigns Korax and Yerla had both been very popular with the crew of the _Titan_, and had not lacked for company in the evenings, being taken to the lounge and given drinks in exchange for their tale. The rumours that had spread amongst the lower decks had Beverly fighting off thousands of M'loi, finally fighting her way to Picard's side to share a passionate kiss before being beamed out.

A fanciful tale, but from what he could tell, it only hyperbolized, rather than a truly fictional account. He knew that he'd rather face down a Klingon battle line rather than face Beverly's wrath, especially if that wrath was fuelled by the need to save Jean-Luc Picard. Over the years, he had watched his friends walk along the precipice between a close platonic relationship and what promised to be a very passionate one. He, along with a good number of people around the quadrant, hoped that they would one day take the leap and plunge into a romantic partnership – one which would be gossip fodder for the entire Federation for as long as they lived.

"Jean-Luc, I know that you're ready to just throw away your career, but please think about it. Think about what Beverly will do to you if you did that. How would she feel? She knows what being in Starfleet means to you. You'd be lucky to get out with your skin, and you know it."

Picard was silent. _Don't I know it. I can only hope that my punishment will include incarceration. The bars won't be to keep me in – they'll be to keep her out._

"Regardless, Will. She saved my life. Saving her career is the least I can do. I'll be able to focus on my archaeology, maybe go back to La Barre." Picard knew that he sounded like he was rationalising what he was going to do, but, then again, perhaps he was.

The look in Jean-Luc's eyes was all Will needed to know that his mind would not be swayed on this issue. Riker sighed.

"Alright, Captain. I'll do what I can. I won't lie, but I'll refuse to issue any statements that contradict your version. I'm still in the dark about most of it, so that shouldn't be too difficult. I'll keep Beverly on the _Titan_ for the return to Earth. That should help you have a bit of a head start for all of this. God help you, sir, if she finds out, and God help you if those two young women find out, as well."

"Thank you, Will." said Picard, who chuckled very quietly.

"Johannsen to Riker. We're coming up on the _Enterprise_ now. We'll be within transporter range in a couple of minutes."

"Acknowledged." Riker got up, and Picard followed him. They two men strode out onto the bridge together, an image which brought a smile to many faces at the thoughts of these two legends side by side.

"Put the _Enterprise_ on screen," Riker said to Graal at Tactical.

The graceful lines of the great Starship came into view, and the proud declaration of _USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E_ was splayed across its saucer section. Seeing that ship always brought a sense of calm to Picard, but not this time.

"I'll get down to the transporter room, Will. I'll need to be over there as soon as possible."

Riker paused, looked at his Captain, and sighed. He knew what he needed to do to make this all work.

"Security, escort Captain Picard to the transporter room." Riker's eyes closed, so that he wouldn't have to see the looks of utter confusion on the faces of his officers. And so he wouldn't have to see the look of thanks on his idols face for doing something that Will loathed.

Regardless of their confusion, they followed their orders. Two security officers were attached to the Captain, and he walked between them until they were in the turbolift. Picard was silent during the ride, and when he reached the transporter room, they watched him until he dematerialized, all along not knowing exactly what was going on.

Commander Data was waiting for him on _Enterprise_, and managed to contain his look of surprise when Picard informed him that he was to be taken, under armed escort, to the brig, pending a court-martial. Data nodded, comprehending the reasons for it, and ordered that a security team be dispatched to the transporter room.

"Take Captain Picard to the brig."

An almost imperceptible nod from Picard made sure that those orders were carried out.

Will comm'd Deanna, and explained the situation. After telling his wife for the third time that he had made all of the arguments that she had, he told her about his plan. Deanna didn't like it, but she'd go along with it, for Picard's sake.

Beverly woke to have lunch with Deanna. Showering quickly, she donned a simply outfit, and made her way to the Captain's Quarters, and chimed the bell.

"Come in!" Deanna's musical voice floated out.

The door hissed open and Beverly walked in, looking tired, but happy. A big smile splayed across her face, and only widened at the sight of the Betazoid.

"Deanna! I had the most wonderful night – I think. I'm a little hazy about most of it, but-" Her wide smile narrowed to a sheepish grin, "oh, I know what you're thinking. No, I didn't take him to bed, regardless of what I wanted to actually do, which I don't think should be commented upon in polite company. But he did come in for a nightcap, and- well, I told him everything. Everything that's gone on in the past month or so, and he did just the most amazing thing, I can't remember most of it, but-" Beverly scrunched her eyes to ward off the light, and bring clarity to her memory.

"What? What happened?" Deanna could sense conflicting emotions from her friend – but given how much she had drank last night, it wasn't surprising.

"Well, he sparred with me, _Mok'bara_, and damn near beat me. But then I had him down, in the _uliC'laK, _and we just waited there. He said something like 'you didn't kill me, and I trust you', and then I don't remember much after that, but I know he stayed with me until I feel asleep. I woke up this morning in my bed – but he wasn't there." She looked around, "come to think of it, where is he? I thought he'd be joining us for breakfast."

"Uh, no. He said he had some things to do on the _Enterprise._ Paperwork and all that. He'll probably be really busy until we reach Earth. I don't know if any of us are going to be able to see him. Which is why Will asked me to invite you to stay with us until we reach Earth...it'll be just like old times!"

"Earth? Why- oh. Right. I totally forgot about that..." Beverly's face fell.

"Don't worry, Beverly. You'll be fine, I'm sure. Anyway, we have a poker game scheduled for tonight, if you want to lose to some of the _Titan's_ crew!" The smile returned to Crusher's face as they recounted some of the more outrageous moments in the old _Enterprise's_ poker days. Deanna hoped that the smile on her face disguised the pain she felt at what was about to happen, and the sacrifices that were going to be made.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Beverly paced, knowing that she would be called in front of the board soon, and that her career would end in those minutes which would seem like an eternity. "_You are to be dishonourably discharged. You are no longer worthy of that uniform. Go from this room."_ She trembled at the thought of hearing those words said to her.

_I'd do it all again, though. In a heartbeat._

She saw Deanna come into the hallway outside the hearing room, a look of pain on her face.

"Deanna! What is it?"

"Nothing, Beverly. How are you doing?"

"Worried as hell, but doing ok. Will came by this morning to see how I was doing. I've had a lot of visitors – today is the big day, I guess. Do you know where Jean-Luc is? I'd like to see him before – well, before I'm no longer an officer."

Deanna had a look of extreme distress on her face. "He, uh, he is giving testimony right now."

"What's with the look? We all knew he'd have to give testimony against me-" Beverly's face fell. "Deanna, what testimony is he giving?"

Troi looked away, and mumbled something incoherent.

"Deanna, WHAT TESTIMONY IS HE GIVING?!" Beverly's voice raised to a shattering crescendo. Several officers in the hall looked up at the commotion.

"Beverly, he's doing it for you. Please, don't be mad at-"

"Mad!? What he is doing is mad! Deanna, don't tell me he is taking the blame!"

"Beverly, it's what he wanted, Will and I-"

"Will and you are letting him do this!? What kind of idiots are you?!" Beverly stormed off.

Deanna called to the security officers in front of the doors to the hearing room. "Stop her from entering the hearing!" The guards moved to block the door. They were large men, over six feet tall, but Beverly gave it a shot nonetheless. Screaming at the top of her lungs at them, she demanded to be let into where her love was hanging himself in a legal noose. Her struggle was in vain.

"You are Jean-Luc Picard, commanding officer of the _USS Enterprise_, Starfleet Serial Number SP-937-215. Born July 13, 2305?"

"Yes."

"You are hereby invested as a witness concerning the actions of one Doctor Beverly Crusher, former Chief Medical Officer of the _USS Enterprise_. You are advised that testimony given here is given under oath, and that perjury is a serious offence under the Federation Criminal Act of 2212. Do you understand what is required of you?"

"Yes."

"How would you characterise Doctor Crusher's mental state?"

"I am no expert in the field of neurology or psychology. It would be inappropriate for me to comment on-"

"As a Starfleet Captain, Captain Picard has had to analyse the mental preparedness of those under his command, including Doctor Crusher. I submit to the board that Captain Picard is, in fact, qualified to give a statement on the accused's mental state."

"Answer the Commander's question, Captain Picard."

Picard paused before answering. "I could not have asked for a more balanced Doctor, Commander. She was an excellent Chief Medical Officer."

"And yet, we have heard the testimony of two young ensigns that say Doctor Crusher drugged both of them with a vaccine, and stole Starfleet property, including a Captain's Yacht, weapons, armour, and several boxes of Tactical Gear, and then violated a Starfleet Expeditionary Ban on a planet. Would you characterise that as the actions of an officer in a balanced state of mind?"

"Commander, Beverly Crusher was in a balanced state of mind because she was following orders."

"Orders, Captain? Starfleet issued no such orders."

"They were not issued by Starfleet," Picard said quietly, taking the plunge, "they were issued by me."

The hearing room was abuzz with murmurs of incredulity and shock. The three Admirals who were to decide the fate of Beverly, now looked amongst themselves at this new development.

Admiral Gains, the chairwoman of the board, rang the bell for order, vainly trying to regain control of the loud room, and said "my colleagues and I require time to discuss these developments. This hearing will have an hour's recess."

Picard got up, and moved to the door, shaking with nerves as he realised what was happening. The doors were flung open, and reporters crowded around the portal, clamouring for statements and soundbites. Picard refused to give any, and stolidly moved through the throng, letting them fall upon the observers behind him. Finally reaching the outside, he was able to breathe. He felt sick, his stomach turning at the thoughts of dishonour and discommendation. He heard a woman's voice behind him.

"Jean-Luc, what the _hell_ are you doing? Have you lost all sense? They're going to be able to see through this, and I'll set them straight. There were no orders!"

He turned to the beautiful redhead with the soft blue eyes, and saw that they were not so soft right now. She was _mad._ She was _incredibly mad._ But he'd stay the course. _Steady as she goes..._

He offered no explanation, just stared at her, willing his eyes not to betray his feelings at what had happened. He was not sorry that he was saving her career. He was sorry that this situation had ever arisen in the first place. _Damn Nechayev._

"Jean-Luc, are you just going to stand their, silent? I think I deserve an explanation!"

"Beverly, I-" No words came, and all he could do was shake is head, and move towards the outer doors.

She looked heartbroken, the anger replaced by pain. "Why? Why the hell did you think this would make me happy? Why the hell did you have to play the martyr again? Don't you think you've given enough?"

He stayed silent.

"Jean-Luc, I wasn't acting under your order. I loved you, I have always loved you, and I went to you because of that love, not because of any duty I needed to perform. And now, now people are going to think that you are some selfish, vain old man, who ordered an expedition to save his life, when the people who went went because they care for you."

She shook her head, sadly, "they still care for you, and you have cheapened their sacrifices. Did you think I went into this thinking I would be hailed as a hero? I went into this with my eyes open, and my heart bleeding for you. Starfleet needs you, _I need you,_ and all of us need you not to be in the stock for the next fifteen years."

Jean-Luc kept his face impassable, but opened his mouth. "Beverly, you do more good than I do. You save people, and the best I can look forward to in this war is just losing more people, killing more people, and having a hell of a bad time of it. No, this isn't about martyrdom, or my sacrifice, or my own glory. I'm done."

He turned, and began to walk away, his lip trembling with the effort of maintaining control. _I will not weep. Not here, not in front of Starfleet, or the press._

Beverly ran after him, and grabbed his arm, spinning him around. Tears were hot in her eyes. "You can be a real bastard sometimes, you know that? _How dare you? How dare you_ denigrate your own achievements? _How dare you _betray the trust that thousands have placed in you? Do you know what the lower decks call you? _Papa._ Rachel and Bellia? The two ensigns who risked their _lives_ to bring you back think of you as a father! _A father_, Jean-Luc, and you are repaying their belief in you with stupidity. I'd gladly go into retirement to make sure you stayed in command. Fuck, half the fleet would retire to make sure you stayed in command. My career was small potatoes to give up to make sure of your return. I can practise medicine almost everywhere. What the hell are you going to do with 'Starship Captain' on your resume?"

"I was, uh, thinking about archaeology-"

"_ARCHAEOLOGY?!_ Jean-Luc, there is a _war_ going on! Or hadn't you noticed? Did you amputate your brain along with you leg, or are you being particularly thick-headed right now? Gods help us, but we don't need another archaeologist right now, we need Picard of the _Enterprise_, whose exploits have inspired thousands, who invented the Picard Manoeuvre, and who is probably the greatest leader since, hell, I don't even know. I love you, more dearly than my own life, but so help me, Jean-Luc Picard, if you go into archaeology, I'll kick your goddamn ass. And you _know_ I can." Her tirade had attracted the attention of the news crews around, and they had caught the gist of what was said.

"Beverly, please, keep it down-"

"Keep it down? Jean-Luc, right now, if the Chief of Staff was standing behind me, I'd still tell you to pull your head out of your ass, and _think about what you are doing!"_


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

If Beverly had turned around, she would have indeed seen Admiral Garret Jeraal standing behind her, waiting patiently, a small smile playing across his face. However, in her anger, she didn't, and continued.

"And another thing! If you think your bit of testimony will be taken at face value, you've got another thing coming! I'll march right into the JAG office, and _make_ them hear me out! You know I will, Jean-Luc, so you just go find whatever Admiral you want, and you tell them who sent you, and for what purpose. _Don't make me tell you again!_"

By now, Picard's face was thoroughly red, and his hand was on his brow, as if that would somehow deflect the rage that he could feel wash around him. _So help me, though. She is beautiful when she gets angry._

Admiral Jaraal loudly cleared his throat, attempting to tactfully interpose himself in this argument.

"Doctor Crusher, I presume? My name is Garret Jeraal, and I'm glad to finally meet you. May I steal Jean-Luc away from you for just a moment?"

It was Beverly's turn to glow red, and she did. Her eyes widened, and she stood stock straight, just as she did when she was still a cadet in the presence of an Admiral.

"Uh, yes, of course, Admiral."

"Thank you. Jean-Luc? Over here." Jeraal placed a hand on the Captain's arm, and led him away.

"She's absolutely right, you know. We do need you. And we need her. Hell, we need everyone we can get right now. M'loi attacks have increased by over 40% in the months you've been gone, Jean-Luc."

"40%? Garret, do we know where they're coming from?"

"We don't have enough information to begin even speculating. What we do know is that there are going to be several sectors that will be threatened in the coming months, and we just don't have the resources to cover them all. Starfleet Command has decided that instead of trying to defend everything all the time, we'll be splitting our frontline units into operational squadrons that'll be dispatched only to where they are needed. We can't afford to lose any more ships that are absolutely necessary, and that means that some systems will be only lightly defended."

Picard nodded, it made sense. With Starships operating in groups rather than alone, engagements could be relatively safe. They'd be hard pressed to respond to everything, but casualties would go down – hopefully.

Remembering something, he turned to his old friend, "Garret, I'd like to get Will Riker assigned to the _Enterprise_ as captain. He's a hell of an officer, and you know it."

"I do, Jean-Luc, and I think that's a wonderful idea, but Riker has turned it down. Says he likes it fine on the _Titan,_ and I can't blame him, it's a beautiful ship. I'll be promoting your Commander Data into the Captain's chair, actually."

Picard whistled in surprise. It wasn't that he thought Data wasn't up to it, but a _Sovereign_-class ship as his first command? That was something special. "He'll not let you down, Garret. Commander Data is one of the finest examples of a Starfleet officer I had ever had the chance of serving with." Picard was happy for him, despite what was going on.

"Don't you want to know why a rookie Captain is being assigned to the _Enterprise?_"

_Yeah, I am, actually._ "Actually..."

"It's because he's probably the only command officer in Starfleet other than Will Riker who'd stand up to his new flag officer. This time, Jean-Luc, you will _not_ say no to the promotion; it's either this, or a discharge, and Doctor Crusher over there already told you what'd happen if you took that route. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it'll be safer commanding your squadron in combat that taking retirement, if she's not one to make idle threats."

"Oh, she isn't, Admiral." _Promotion? I'll be an Admiral?_ Then something crossed his mind. "Garret, I'll not take this is it means throwing Beverly to the wolves-"

"Relax Jean-Luc. She'll be whitewashed at the court-martial, officially reprimanded for taking unnecessary risks, and then privately congratulated by every Admiral and Captain in the fleet for getting you back. She'll probably never gain a command after it, but what she said was right - she knew the risks before going into this. If I'd heard about it first, I'd likely have lost the war by now trying to get you." Admiral Jeraal smiled reassuringly.

"And my testimony today?"

"...will undoubtedly be seen for what it was – a man trying to protect the woman he loves, and a captain trying to take responsibility for those under his command. Hell, Jean-Luc, I really don't think she needs protecting for _anything_. We'll make sure it gets forgotten, and you'll have Doctor Crusher on _Enterprise_. But, enough about that. Your coming for dinner tonight with that beautiful doctor of yours. I'd like to be the first to congratulate her in private, and Amy will want to see you again. We'll open a few bottles, and make a night of it. 2000 hours, don't be late – that's an order. Besides, you know how Amy gets."

"Yes, sir." Picard smiled.

He came back to Beverly, who was still standing there at attention.

"Beverly, we have to go."

"Where?" Her eyes were still smouldering, and her voice was tight with repressed emotion.

"Away from the press. We need to talk."

Walking a ways away from the press, the went into a more secluded part of the grounds, surrounded by flowering bushes and flowers. Jean-Luc took both of Beverly's hand into his, and looked at her pretty face, her perfect eyes, and beautiful mouth.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been so pig headed. I know why you went, and I just made a joke out of it," he sighed. "It's just – it's just very difficult for me to see others around me make sacrifices for me, it makes me feel like a fool, or worse, like a weakling."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he put his fingers to her lips.

"Please, let me continue. I know that people think highly of me, and sometimes I get scared. I am not comfortable being the object of affection for anyone, let alone everyone I work with, and that number is about to go up, drastically, but I'll get to that later. Beverly, I don't think I ever properly thanked you for what you did for me."

Beverly's eyes shone.

"You got me out. You came into danger to get me back to safety. I'll admit – I was giving up. I couldn't even think at the end, but I have, I don't know, memories or visions, of a red headed warrior coming for me. She was beautiful, and terrible, like a Valkyrie from myths. I remember he fighting her way through a horde, and then I guess I blacked back out. The Valkyrie had your face, Beverly, and your arms, and your legs. I don't know if what I saw actually happened, but the reassurance of her saved my life as surely as any surgery. You saved my life as well as my spirit, and I'll never, ever, forget it, for as long as I live. My life, from here on, is yours."

_Wow. That came out a lot sappier than I was hoping for, _Picard thought.

_Wow. That was..._ Beverly couldn't think straight. _You, my dear, have a silver tongue._

"Well, I guess I can forgive you, then." Beverly's voice was toneless, and her vision unfocused.

"Beverly? Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah, no, I'm fine. I'm just a little, _wooo_, a bit, just a bit light-headed."

"I'll get you a glass of water-"

"No, no, I'll be fine. You just, well, you just threw me a bit. I didn't know you thought like- I'm just a bit surprised. Which, I really shouldn't be. With all the Shakespeare you read, I guess it isn't surprising you'd be-"

"Beverly? What I said was from the heart. I wasn't trying to woo you or use rhetoric to make it seem alright. That was just-"

"Jean-Luc, I know, don't worry. You didn't intend to woo me, love, but you sure did a good job of it any way..."

Picard laughed at that, and stuck his arm out for her for support.

"Come on, we've got to get back to the hearing."

"Time for that already, huh? It'll be court-martial, won't it?"

"Yes, but you'll be whitewashed. I've got that from the Chief of Staff. Everything will be fine, Beverly."

The mention of Admiral Jeraal brought something out in her mind.

"Jean-Luc? What did you mean earlier, about working with more people?"

"Oh, that?" Jean-Luc tried to put on his most indifferent face, "they're making me an Admiral."

Beverly stopped in her tracks, and planted him with a stare. "An Admiral? Where will you be...?"

"From what I can tell, I'll be assigned to a squadron that'll be formed around _Enterprise._" The smile was showing through.

"And...us? I don't know if we're an 'us,' but whatever we are...?"

"We can figure that out at our leisure. You'll be reassigned to _Enterprise_."

Relief spread through Beverly at that news. A smile indicated that to Picard, who smiled back.

The throng of reporters, who looked amused at the change in feelings between the two, took pictures of them as they passed by. The stories that would be gracing the Federation's news cycle would be mostly gossip and hearsay, but in the midst of war, happiness was still needed.

"_Non illigitimus carborundum_." Taking her arm in his, he led her back through the doors into the hearing room.

"You know I have little Latin outside of medicine..."

"It was pig Latin. It means 'don't let the bastards wear you down.'"

She smiled at his rare use of expletive language.

_I'm ready if you are, love._

_Bring the bastards on._

The End

Author's Note: If people want, I'll write a sequel. Leave a review! It's title, tentatively, is _Agere Sequitur Credere._

I enjoyed writing this, and I am grateful for all the support I got for it during the process. I'd especially like to thank Chris, Dianne, and Rachel for their aid, and a special thanks to Helen, jfgt, and Denise. You each know why.


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